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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238008">Hot Rails to Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassGeorgeGlass/pseuds/GlassGeorgeGlass'>GlassGeorgeGlass</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy &amp; O'Keefe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, But not annoying, Demon JD, Demon possession, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Growing Up, Homophobic Harassment Made By Bullies, Its the 90s!, Psychic Abilities, Sequel, Tarantino non-linear storytelling, Ten Years Later, Toxic Relationships, Trying hard to make the kids/teens realistic not cutesy, but like realistic late 90s?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:47:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>74,471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25238008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassGeorgeGlass/pseuds/GlassGeorgeGlass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years have passed since the "Year of Death" at Westerberg High. Veronica Sawyer is now a guidance counselor trying to navigate the changing high school culture of 1999. But she can't stop seeing her ex JD's eyes. Heather Duke left high school-- and her secret relationship to Heather Chandler-- behind and is now a successful publicist in LA having a series of one night stands with any model willing. Heather McNamara is moving back to Sherwood with a fiancee, house, and everything she wanted. But is it?</p><p>On the ten year anniversary, a troubled student comes to Veronica with knowledge she couldn't know, claiming she can see beyond this plane. And when the Heathers return to Sherwood all hell breaks loose. Literally.</p><p>Was everything that happened as it seemed 10 years ago? Or was the supernatural entity Azazel more responsible than any of them could have known? What was his grip on JD? On Veronica? And what will happen when they have to send Azazel back to hell before it takes all their souls?</p><p>Sort of AU: The events of the movie/musical happened but they were not as they appear. A supernatural force had some responsibility. There are ghosts, demons, and psychic powers in this world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Heather Chandler/Heather Duke, Heather Duke/Original Female Character(s), Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Cult of Mythological JD</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Heat From Below Can Burn Your Eyes Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! Welcome to a new multi-chapter story. It takes place in 1999 and will include elements of high school culture that changed in the wake of the Columbine Massacre, please be advised. It is only referenced though, and the plot follows closely to the Heathers plot-- with elements of the movie and musical mixed-- but it being set in fall of '99 I just didn't think not making reference to it by HS teachers/staff realistic. Especially given the fandom this is and the fact that HS culture changed in many towns following that. The plot though is not going to be about any incident like that. It has demons. And psychic powers though.</p><p>Updates may be sporadic. I still want to give my other story the priority since most people have been following that one longer. The title is a Blue Oyster Cult song, and the chapter titles may all be lyrics from that song. Depends on how feasible that is. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> September 1999 </em>
</p><p>Veronica Sawyer spun around in her desk chair, long after school had gotten out for the day. Schools were strange with the absence of children and only staff inside. She was grateful her office had a view. It was of the parking lot, yes, but a window was a window and if you squinted just right on a clear day… you could also see the interstate highway. But she loved the natural light. It was dark now, daylight savings had begun not long ago, and she loathed how early it was dark, but she wasn’t quite ready to go home yet.</p><p>She’d taken this job not long after getting her master’s degree-- Ms. Fleming’s old job. She had left the school following a conversion and decided to join a ministry. No one was quite clear on what religion or what ministry to be honest, but the job was open. The pay sucked but the benefits were good. She had just bought a condo in a new development in Sherwood and it was enough to make her payments. Veronica now had Ms. Fleming’s old office and laughed on day one when she found the trick drawer with her emergency dime bag and incense. And no, she didn’t throw it out. </p><p>Today was Thursday and she was there late. Thursdays were for staff meetings and development seminars and this last one had been a real doozy. She closed her eyes processing all they had discussed as well as the contents of her email which had just been sent.</p><p>Don Lippencot, the newest addition to Westerberg and Vice Principal, entered her office and opened up his bag and showed her the bottle of whisky. She nodded yes in solidarity as she got two disposable cups from her water cooler out. He poured a shot in each.</p><p>“You’re an angel,” she told him.<br/>
<br/>
“I try,” he agreed, taking a seat in a chair previously occupied by a crying cheerleader earlier that day. Her boyfriend had left her for the bottom of the pyramid. She was the top. She didn’t understand. </p><p>“But I’m the top!” She had told her. Veronica handed her the box of tissues. Veronica was not without empathy. She told the girl it would get better, did her best and scheduled a follow up for tomorrow. Breakups were hard in high school. She should know. Her high school boyfriend tried to blow up the gym when she broke up with him. <em> Don’t think about JD. Of course it would bring thoughts of him back. </em></p><p>“Your wife knows how lucky she is, I’m sure,” she said teasing him.</p><p>“Hopefully. I moved us out here from Chicago for her and the little whipper snapper after all.” They laughed. Veronica stared at her cup and swirled the brown liquid around in it.</p><p>What was distressing her was not her students, but rather the meeting they just had and the e-mail she had just re-read five times in complete shock. She turned to her friend and clinked their glasses-- the disposable plastics not giving them quite the satisfying <em> clink </em>glass would-- in solidarity before taking a drink. She leaned back in her desk chair, gently pushing it back and forth, letting her head lounge back in stressful defeat.</p><p>“That meeting was insane,” he told her. “What to do in case of a bomb threat? Debating metal detectors? The possibility of lock down drills? I thought when I came to the suburbs I was getting away from all that.” He took a sip. Veronica sighed, defeated.</p><p>“Do you even want to know what the email from the school board I got today was about?” </p><p>“Do I?” He asked, not wanting to know, but clearly wanting to. She sipped her whisky and turned her clunky monitor around so he could see. He read it and sat back in shock. “Fuuuuck.”</p><p>“Yep,” Veronica agreed, saluting her whisky, gulping it, and pouring them both more. “I’ve got to compile a list of any student displaying the following behaviors: anti-establishment talk from their mouths, love of goth/punk music, violent video game addiction, clothing that doesn’t conform, non-traditional home life--”<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus Christ, that has to be more than half the student population.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yup,” she said, unsure what to think right now. “‘Red-flagged’ as they put it.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m going to go out on a limb and hope it’s so you can properly counsel them, see how they’re family life is, get them help if they need it and-” Veronica gaped at him.</p><p>“You think we have the budget for that? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this list I’m making.” He closed his eyes surprised, but not surprised. “God, by some of this criteria I would have been on the list when I was 17.” <em> Maybe I should have been. My boyfriend too. Stop thinking about JD. </em></p><p>“Me too. Fuck, how many kids wouldn’t?”</p><p>She shook her head loose and her anger turned to despair. “When did the kids become the enemy?”</p><p>“You know when,” he said, equally as sad. She nodded. Last April two kids in Colorado walked into their high school and fifteen people died. It was a tragedy. And in an instant every small town high school changed. Any pundit looking to get airtime on the twenty-four hour news cycle needed to weigh in. It was because of Marilyn Manson music. It was because of movies like Basketball Diaries and Natural Born Killers. It was because of video games. It was because of- there were so many outside "because of's" it didn't make sense. And listening to people her own age agree was maddening. Did they not remember how many things were blamed on MTV and video games when they were teens?</p><p>She closed her eyes, remembering her own high school tragedy. Drain-O in a coffee cup. Two boys: dead in a graveyard. A flash of a bomb in a football field blowing up in front of her flashed in her mind. The whiskey trickled down her throat uncomfortably. “They act like this place has never seen true tragedy before,” she said without thinking. Don’s face lit up in macabre memory.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, that’s right. I’ve heard about that one year. What do the kids call it? The ‘Year of Death!’ 1992 was it?” </p><p>“‘89,” Veronica said somberly, refilling her glass. “I was a senior here.” His eyes widened.<br/>
<br/>
“Shit. I knew you graduated here, but I didn’t realize you were a part of that class. Four suicides in less than a month?! That’s insanity.”<br/>
<br/>
Veronica shifted in her seat. “Four kids in less than a month, yup. Insanity.” She took a hearty sip.</p><p>“Geez. I’m sorry. Were you close to any of them?” He asked, realizing how ghoulish he must have sounded.<br/>
<br/>
“The first was a kind of friend of mine and the last was my boyfriend.” And she was present and involved with the deaths of all four of them. <em> We should get off this topic. Now. </em></p><p>“Fuck me Sawyer. Why is this the first time I’ve heard about this?” He leaned back in his chair, amazed. He’d heard all the wild rumors about it ever since he asked about the small plaque in front of his office. He had been surprised-- usually suicides at high schools don’t get memorialized in fear of making it look celebrated-- but he was told these four were unique. The first was the most beloved girl in the history of the school-- and her parents had considerable money and influence--  two of them had been because they were gay and too scared to come out and the last… well, he guessed if you were going to put the others up you couldn’t leave off the fourth. Rumors on his death were wild. He had strapped a bomb to his chest in the football field?! He had been new and no one knew why. The plaque was small though, with little frills. It just said:</p><p><em> In memory of: Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, Ram Sweeney, Jason Dean. 1972-1989 </em><br/>
<br/>
Veronica’s eyes looked gaunt. “You never asked.” She shrugged.</p><p>“The first girl. Heather? Right?” Veronica nodded. “She was a friend?”</p><p>“We were in the same clique. Briefly,” she explained. “A very ‘rule the school’ kind of thing. I had just been promoted from dweeb to deb the first week of school.” She shrugged. “Her life seemed exciting and fun. Parties, boys, being loved… all that seemed really important at seventeen, you know?” He nodded. She tried not to recall the look on Heather’s face after she swallowed the drain cleaner.</p><p>“And the second two… Kurt and Ram? They were gay? Scared to come out?” She bristled.</p><p>
  <em> “Count of three, okay?” She said, internally laughing at the joke about to be played on those two pricks. They would pay dearly for the nasty rumor they created about her. “One… Two…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Three,” JD said coldly, stepping out of the shadows. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Bang. Bang. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, tragedy,” she said, still mulling with her real feelings about that day, her own knowledge of the events.</p><p>“And the last boy- god. Your boyfriend? I’m sorry Veronica. Jason Dean? Right?” Veronica looked down.</p><p>“JD. We called him JD.” A combination of misery and pain started to find its way into her heart.</p><p>
  <em> “I’m Veronica Sawyer by the way. Were you ever gonna tell me your name?” She asked, her eyes already in awe of the handsome boy with messy brown hair and a sexy crooked smile. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll end the suspense. Jason Dean. JD for short,” he replied, taking her hand to shake in greeting. The contact made her body hum and he raked his eyes over her approvingly, making her whole body tense pleasantly at their instant attraction. </em>
</p><p>Don knocked her out of the memory. “He, like, somehow got ahold of explosives and-” He stopped, looking down. “I’m sorry. He was your boyfriend.” He felt ashamed. In one instant one of the names on the plaque outside his door became a real person. A real person who had gone out with a friend of his. She nodded.</p><p>“Yes. It was a bomb.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t want to. “We had technically broken up not long before but-” Don cut her off, having had a revelation.<br/>
<br/>
“Wait, that was nearly ten years ago. Boyfriend? Wait-” He did some math in his head. “Does that mean-” </p><p>Betty Finn-- 10th grade English teacher and oldest of friends-- knocked on her door just in time to end Don’s line of questioning. A dangerous line of questioning.</p><p>“Hey Betty,” Veronica said, glad that line of questioning had been broken. She had no idea where this mood of confession with her co-worker had come from.</p><p>“Sorry, am I interrupting boozy teacher happy hour? If so, I have to say I’m a little hurt I wasn’t invited.” Veronica poured a half shot into a cup for Betty. Betty was never much of a drinker, but she enjoyed a small nibble at these teaching bitch and drink sessions. “God, that meeting. Can you believe that’s the world we live in now? Locking the doors and telling the kids to get under the desks in case someone-” She shook her head, scared. “What were you two talking about?”<br/>
<br/>
“How I am now in charge of profiling the student body for possible ‘red-flags.’ IE any kid that matches up with some clueless pundit’s version of an ‘at risk teen.’” Betty’s eyes turned to saucers. She always had her heart on her sleeve.</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding.”<br/>
<br/>
“Read the email.” Betty did.</p><p>“Fuck, that’s awful but… I don’t know, maybe it’s good to figure out which kids might be ticking bombs?” She was just as scared by the idea of kids turning to violence in a “nice” town like Sherwood as the administration was. Veronica looked at her, realistically.<br/>
<br/>
“Any kid could be a ticking bomb, Betty. You know how many stories I hear at conferences about perfect kids in perfect schools who end up cutting themselves when something doesn’t go perfect? It doesn’t take Marilyn Manson music and Playstation games to mess with the mental state of a teenager.” Betty shivered. Out of anyone living in the world, Betty knew more about Veronica’s past than anyone else. She was a sworn friend and confidant. She wasn’t going to spill those secrets.</p><p>“That wasn’t all we were talking about,” Don said, turning to Betty. “I was particularly fascinated to hear that Jason Dean-- one of the names on the plaque outside my office-- was our Ms. Sawyer’s boyfriend.” Betty went white and looked at Veronica like she was crazy. Veronica gulped down and finished her whisky. It was already far more than she should have drunk on a Thursday night.</p><p>“Ex,” Betty corrected. “They broke up before-”</p><p>“Can I get a ride home from you Betty? I think I may have accidentally had a touch too much whiskey to be driving tonight.” She nodded, polishing off her own nip.</p><p>“Yeah, we better go, right?” Veronica nodded as they all got up. She grabbed her purse and coat and said goodnight to Don.</p><p>“How the hell did Jason Dean come up in a conversation with Don Lippencot?” Betty asked when they got into her Mazda, very spooked.<br/>
<br/>
“He was asking about The Year of Death.” Betty sighed as she started up the car and started driving.<br/>
<br/>
“I hate that that name stuck for it. Three kids died that year. It’s so… disrespectful.”<br/>
<br/>
“Four,” Veronica corrected purposefully. “Four kids Betty.” Betty never liked acknowledging the last death their senior year had. He had hurt Veronica. Just because he hadn’t let her die too- It didn’t make up for anything else he did. Even in the slightest, in her opinion. He left her to clean up the mess. And the “mess” was far bigger than he could imagine.<br/>
<br/>
“Four,” she agreed, not really meaning it. “How do you of all people manage to call it that too?”</p><p>“It’s not untrue,” Veronica said, sobering up and being honest. “It was a year and people died.” Betty Finn knew the most of the truth of that year than anyone else still alive. She knew about the forged suicide notes and Jason Dean’s blow out finale. She knew Veronica’s part in it… and for some reason she was able to forgive her for a lot of it. Well, not forgive precisely, but move on. </p><p>“I wish we could never talk about him again,” she said for the millionth time in her life. Betty could never quite get past her hate of JD. She refused to believe Veronica was nothing more than a girl tricked into going along with his psycho plans. In Betty’s mind JD was a psychopath who charmed her best friend into a string of murders and Veronica was at least virtuous for beating him in the end.</p><p>Veronica tried to tell her many times it was a lot more complicated than that. She wasn’t the simple hero, and he the villain and that there were many reasons for why JD was the way he was and that no matter what he did she still had loved him but Betty Finn was more black and white about it than she was. In many ways Veronica loved Betty for it, but it was impossible to agree with her and it was too hard for her to explain that in many ways she’d always be the seventeen year old girl in love with wild and crazy Jason Dean. As much as she hated herself for it.</p><p>“You know I’ll never be able to forget his eyes,” Veronica said quietly, the whisky really having hit her maudlin side a bit harder than usual.</p><p>“I know,” Betty said as she pulled up to drop Veronica off. After putting the car in park she gently put her hand over Veronica’s and squeezed it. Veronica squeezed it back. “Say hi to Theo for me.” Veronica nodded and got out of the car and headed to her parents house.</p><p>“I will. Thanks for the lift Betty. I think- I think the realization that it's been ten years-” Betty nodded.</p><p>“I know. Look, why don’t we figure out a time this weekend? You, Theo, me and Rob. We can do something fun, right? Take our minds off it all.” Veronica smiled.</p><p>“I’d like that.” She bid her goodnight and she drove off.</p><p>She opened the door and took her coat off and put her purse on the side, “Mom? Dad? It’s me. Is it okay to spend the night?” She answered her own question when she saw her mom on the couch asleep during Must See TV. She got the afghan from the couch and put it over her.</p><p>“She fell asleep during Friends,” a voice said. “But you're back before Frasier and ER!” Veronica laughed and cuddled up on the big recliner that had been a favorite of her dad’s since she could remember. Theo was now the owner of it especially for her primetime TV binges. She loved network prime time. She liked reruns during the day. She also finished all of her homework though so it was hard for her to see it as the worst problem ever.</p><p>Veronica pushed the nine year old to the side and slid into the chair beside her, cuddling her onto her lap. “Do you even get the jokes on Frasier?” She asked Theodora Sawyer, her daughter. </p><p>“Sometimes. I like looking up the ones I don’t though. Mom? Are we spending the night?” She kissed her daughter’s head and laughed nodding. She hated the idea of driving home in the middle of her show. Theodora had the deep brown hair of her at that age and the same coloring, but she was tall, wickedly funny, whip smart, and had deep brown eyes and a dusting of freckles across her face just like… </p><p>Well, just like her father. Betty Finn knew the reason Veronica would never forget JD’s eyes: his daughter stared back at Veronica Sawyer with them every day since she was born.</p><p>
  <em> Veronica was standing on the beach somewhere tropical and warm. The Keys. The Florida Keys. She had been wanting to save up for a trip for a while. She had on her favorite blue two piece and sarong, with her large oval sunglasses. The sun felt warm and electric on her skin. She smiled as she watched her baby daughter frolic in the waves. “Your cherry slushie my love,” JD said, handing her the cold sugary beverage. She should think it strange. He was wearing his usual outfit: boots, black pants, band shirt, flannel, and trench coat. It seemed perfectly natural though. Very him. </em>
</p><p><em> “God, that is exactly what I needed. How did you know?” She took a grateful sip. He wrapped his arms around her, his whole body holding her from behind enveloping her in his hug. He kissed her head, causing her eyes to flutter shut as she accepted the bliss of his embrace. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “Don’t I always know my love?” He kissed her neck causing her body to hum. “She’s beautiful.” </em></p><p><em> “She’s perfect,” she sighed. “She has your eyes, and your brains.” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “She got her brains from you, let’s be frank,” he said with a chuckle. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “No, not just book smart, but wily and clever like you were.” </em></p><p><em> “I hope she’s nothing like me,” he said, seriously. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “There was good in you.” He turned her around in his arms and kissed her. He laid her down on the sand. Suddenly they weren’t on the beach anymore. </em></p><p><em> She was in a lavish room with white billowy curtains. She was underneath him, no longer in a bathing suit, but a blue negligee. He was on top of her kissing her fiercely. She groaned in lust and want as the two rolled back and forth on the king sized bed struggling for the right to be on top. His hands were everywhere, his mouth was everywhere. And she was giving as much as she took, wanting him ounce for ounce as he wanted her. Just as quickly as it had begun she was on her back and he was parting her thighs staring up at her. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “Oh JD… don’t stop. Don’t stop. I want you so much…” He looked up at her sweetly. </em></p><p>
  <em> “I love you Veronica. I’ll always love you.” She looked down at him tenderly, slipping her hands in his hair, petting him gently before moving down to hold his cheek, her eyes shining with love.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll always love you too,” she whispered back. He turned his head, gently kissing her wrist lingeringly. Only in her dreams could she ever admit such a thing. Only in her dreams could the two freely be together the way they should have been, without anger, fear, or violence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Suddenly his hands on her thighs felt like iron. Out of nowhere chains on the bed flew out and clasped her arms, then her legs. Slowly a black vine grew from the bed and wrapped around her body. She thrashed her body trying to free herself but she felt pinned, trapped underneath them. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak but to whimper. She glanced down at him, his eyes turned red and his grin grew wide. “We were meant to be. Our love is God.” And then a bomb exploded in front of her, blinding her. </em>
</p><p>Veronica woke with a start and a headache. The whiskey after work. Fuck. JD and the “suicides” were brought up with Don after work and Betty… that’s why. That’s why she would dream of him. Alcohol and wallowing in your past are a really shitty combination. Quietly, she awoke in her teenage bedroom and got dressed before heading downstairs, in search of breakfast and coffee. It was still early-- only 6:00 in the morning. She had to pull herself together before it was time to physically force her daughter up for school, drop her off at Sherwood Elementary and then head in for her own day at Westerberg.</p><p>
  <em> God… why was it so hard to forget him? His touch? His mouth on my skin? It’s been ten fucking years. </em>
</p><p>She hit the start button on her parent’s Mr. Coffee. “You’re up early Veronica,” her mother said as she saw her putting a sandwich together and packing it up with an apple, a small bag of crackers, and three Oreos.</p><p>“Oh Mom, you don’t have to do that for her. I can pack her lunch.” Her mother shook her head.</p><p>“I like doing it. Reminds me of when you were little.” She smiled. “Besides, you have to get ready for work. I’ve been part-time in the afternoons at the library for the last year. I’m getting bored and I strangely miss doing things like this.” She smiled at her mother and kissed her cheek. “I’m just saying, I don’t mind helping out more if you need it.”</p><p>“You know she appreciates it. And that I do too. Thank you for taking her on Thursdays when I work late.” Veronica took her mug down from the cupboard.</p><p>“You know,” she said, broaching the subject for the hundredth time, “if you two would just move back in…”  Veronica sighed as she stepped away and filled her cup with coffee and topped it with a splash of milk.</p><p>“Mom, we’ve been through this.” It wasn’t that she disliked her parents or that the idea of living with them… but she liked her condo. She liked having a space for just her and Theo.<br/>
<br/>
“Honey, you two aren’t a burden to us. You’re our daughter and granddaughter. There’s nothing wrong with all of us living together. You work and you need help and shouldn’t pay a fortune for your mortgage and child care when there’s enough space here. We’re family. Self-sufficiency is highly overrated.” </p><p>“You know I love the help you two give us, but we like our unit. It’s cozy for us and has storage and garage…” Her mother relented.</p><p>“Okay, okay. We’ve been over this. I know.” She couldn’t drop it though. “But you got that place,” Veronica sighed, “five years ago after grad school when you thought-” She shut up, knowing she overstepped. </p><p><em> When I thought Tim and I were going to get married, </em> Veronica finished internally <em> . </em> Tim had been nice. Tim would have made a great dad and have made them a family. “It didn’t work out between us,” Veronica said, not wanting to discuss the dissolution of her engagement.</p><p>“And I’ve never asked you about that,” her mother said, pointedly. “Your whole life was always your own decision. Ever since we found out that you, well, you were going to have Theodora.” She was right. Her mother and father weren’t thrilled with their seventeen year old daughter finding herself pregnant-- and that the father had just committed suicide by strapping a bomb to his chest in the football field-- but there was no crazy show or argument over it. </p><p>They had just asked her what she wanted to do. She weighed all her options and even though she wasn’t fundamentally opposed to-- or to anyone else choosing differently-- any of the other ones, she decided to keep her so they all made it work. And they pitched in to help her. She still went to college, worked part time, and took care of her baby and mom and dad had been there to help her every step of the way without complaint. Her mother was right: it was her decision and they didn’t pressure her at all.</p><p>“I just mean that there’s no reason to live away from us that I can think of,” her mother conceded. Veronica eyed her mother. She would always be eternally grateful for not just their financial support during the beginning years, but the emotional ones as well.</p><p>“I know mom. You’ve always been supportive. I love you two. I do.” She gave her a small side hug.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s just-- The four of us would be very cozy here. That’s all.” It wasn’t that it wasn’t tempting. It was a house. A proper one with a swing in the backyard and a sidewalk to bike down with no fear of getting in anyone’s way. She could live in her old teenage bedroom. Theo would have the spare room. But she was proud of her little condo. Their home.</p><p>“You’ll be the first to know if we change our mind. Okay?” Her mother relented as she finished packing up the Toy Story 2 lunchbox. She turned to her daughter and gently patted her hair back, looking at her sunken eyes. Concerned, she stroked her head.</p><p>“Have you been having nightmares again?” She asked seriously. Her mother knew a bit about the dreams. Just like she knew a bit about JD and the events of her senior year. </p><p>Oh, and that the father of her baby-- her boyfriend, that she hadn’t even introduced-- had killed himself by detonating a bomb on his chest in the football field in front of her. They knew that. Not the rest of their relationship, but they knew that.</p><p>Jason Dean was not a name uttered from the lips of Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer if they could help it. Jason Dean was just, “him” to them or “he” if he was ever brought up at all. As far as they were concerned it would have been better if Theo had miraculously formed inside of Veronica. They loved their daughter, and adored their granddaughter… but “he” was someone they pitied, yes, but did not bring up. </p><p>Veronica remembered her mother and father asking her to talk to someone following the events of that month, particularly when they found out she was pregnant. It had been helpful, and confidential-- even if she hadn’t been totally truthful in fear of jail time. Doctor/patient privilege didn’t extend that far and there was no statute of limitations on murder. Betty had been the only one to know a lot of the story and even then… Veronica Sawyer had some secrets she’d take to the grave.</p><p>But the dreams. Her mother knew there were bad dreams that that day on the football field left her with. How could it not have? And approaching a ten year anniversary? “If you need to talk to someone again you should. If it’s the money-”</p><p>“Mom, my insurance covers it. I know. I’m looking for someone in my network, okay?” Her mother was relieved. <em> If only she knew they weren’t all nightmares. If only she knew that for some reason she still pined for her dead mentally ill boyfriend that murdered in her name before killing himself. </em> Veronica Sawyer always knew she was damaged, now she knew she was very damaged.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay.” Her mother took the cereal bowls and Kix down. “Not to change the subject completely but you’ll never believe who I ran into in the A&amp;P.”<br/>
<br/>
“Who?” She asked, not wanting to guess.</p><p>“Your old friend Heather McNamara! It was so good to see her.” Veronica nodded. She should call her if she’s back in town. “She told me she was getting married and they bought a house here! Isn’t that fantastic!” Veronica was surprised.</p><p>“Oh wow! I should call her.” Mac and her had drifted apart a bit in the last ten years. She had a daughter to raise, school, and eventually a job. McNamara went to school in upstate NY and floated in other circles in her adult years. She had only drifted back occasionally since high school.</p><p>“She-” Her mother paused.<br/>
<br/>
“What? Tell me.”<br/>
<br/>
“She wanted me to tell you.” She looked down. “I know it all still upsets you but-”<br/>
<br/>
“Tell me mom.”<br/>
<br/>
“She wants to do some kind of a memorial. For Heather Chandler. It’s been ten years since-” <em> Since her accidental on purpose murder turned suicide. </em>“She died.” Veronica bristled. “You were all so close once. You, Heather Chandler, Heather MacNamera, and Heather Duke. Pretending to be so high class,” she laughed, “playing croquet in the back whilst I told you all the liverwurst was pâté.” Her mother shook her head forlorn, forgetting that Heather Chandler thought her pâté was a joke. “She was such a leader, people flocked to her.”</p><p><em> Yes, </em> Veronica thought, uncharitably, <em> like pilot fish on the shark </em> . Guilt washed through her. Still, she realized, no matter who Heather Chandler was she had still died too young. <em> And your soul wasn’t clean of that, </em> her conscious reminded her. <em> Tell yourself all you want it was JD for getting the cleaner out, him for not telling you you grabbed the wrong cup, that neither of you knew it would really kill her and that quickly… a part of you wanted to give her it. And you wanted her dead. </em>She shivered as she always did acknowledging her own darkness and blackened soul.</p><p>“Oh. Yes. Of course,” was all she said to her mother. She glanced at the clock wanting to lose herself in her busy life. Motherhood and work were good distractions. “I better go drag the monster out of her bed and force her to get ready for school,” she said as she finished her coffee.</p><p>She trudged over to the couch and stared at the sleeping form of her daughter who was an unruly beast when trying to wake for school. Mostly because she had a bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night to sneak cereal and late night TV. </p><p>Her daughter. The one JD had helped her make. If there was one good thing to come from their union it had to be her. She hated the thought of it, and would never say it out loud, but in many ways their innocent little girl was really their salvation. If she could raise her to be a good person... Well, it wasn’t enough to erase the past, but it might wipe the slate a bit clean. She rubbed her face and tried to remember normal day to day life. “Come on!” She cried as she shook the small creature. “Breakfast. Get dressed. School.” Her nine year old groaned.</p><p>“Too early mom…”</p><p>“Were you up late watching TV again?” She asked, getting annoyed.</p><p>“Mooom…” She groaned, exhausted as she tried to pull her body up. She sat up in her Spice Girls pajamas and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.</p><p>“Morning peanut,” her dad said to her with a kiss on her head as he came towards the kitchen on his way to eat before work. “Morning lil’ peanut,” he said to Theo, giving her the same kiss.</p><p>“Morning dad,” Veronica chimed back.</p><p>“Morning grandpa,” Theo chimed as well.</p><p>“Get dressed, get dressed, get dressed…” Veronica hustled Theo up and at ‘em. She grumbled as she went to the chest with some school clothes she always had at grandma and grandpas for when they ended up sleeping over. “Dad, do you mind dropping us off on your way in? I left my car at school last night, Betty gave me a lift.”</p><p>“Why?” He asked, confused. “Oh, right. Thursday meeting day.” He chuckled, knowing about the nips of whisky in the teacher’s lounge after meetings. Veronica eyed him, not wanting to be reminded of her overindulgence the night before.</p><p>“Dad, come on. Please.”</p><p>“Of course,” he relented. He looked at her sideways. “Are you sleeping okay? The night-?” He cut himself off seeing Theo in earshot.</p><p>“We’ve been over it Bill,” her mother said. “She’s addressing it. And we also covered them moving back in, so don’t bring that up either.” Mr. Sawyer laughed as the natural family chemistry of the Sawyers kicked in.</p><p>Veronica packed her own bag up and by 7:30 all the Sawyers were ready to go to meet the new day. Veronica pushed aside any painful memories she had in order to face a day of work and normal life.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Last Night... </em>
</p><p>It was 3 AM at Westerberg High on Thursday going into Friday. Somewhere in the boiler room a couple of mice scurried around the lightly dripping pipes of the industrial antiquated heating system. One of which gnawed at the floor covering where once there was a bomb planted. It didn’t know what it was doing, it was just a mouse being a mouse. It’s final chew through caused a wave of electricity to fly through the air like St. Elmo’s Fire ending its short life.</p><p>In its wake left a non-corporeal being. It was neither alive, nor dead. It was most definitely trapped. Trapped somewhere between this world and another one that was unseen to most. It wasn’t bound by any natural law of nature. An unseen door appeared next to the shape.</p><p>“Jason Dean,” the demon named Azazel said to the being, stepping out from the shadows. The demon was gnarled and red, ugly in the darkness but crackled with power. “Greetings and salutations.”</p><p>The being looked at him, stunned. It was Jason Dean, 27 years old and wearing the black pants, motorcycle boots, black shirt, and trench coat of his youth. He looked at his translucent hand, realizing he wasn’t corporeal. “Where am I?” He croaked.</p><p>“Welcome back to Westerberg High,” the demon told him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You Caught Me in it's Spell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Veronica recalls an awkward conversation, Heather McNamara comes back to town, and we check in with the boiler room at Westerberg.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Told you guys updates may not be the quickest. Sorry this took longer than I thought though, but I'm doing longer chapters, so hopefully that balances out. A lot of stuff felt wrong and needed to be re-worked as did the back story, the rules... anyway. Also, I had completely forgotten that Azazel is the name of the yellow eyed demon from Supernatural. It was just the name that popped into my head, not meant to be a reference, but we'll stay with it. Without further ado...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> December, 1989 </em>
</p><p>Veronica stood on JD’s porch unsure of herself. They had just had the first snowfall of the year and she shivered in her winter coat. Well, her dad's old coat. She noticed she had begin to bust out of her usual coat and he had insisted she wear his. She had been at this house many times before but looking at it just a few weeks after the boiler room she suddenly didn’t recognize anything at all. She swallowed, petrified. <em>Come on</em> <em>Veronica, </em>she told herself, <em>you owe it to JD to do this. It’s the right thing to do and from now on you’re no longer the coward you used to be.</em></p><p>Bud Dean opened the door and she was suddenly at a loss of words. She looked back at her father’s jeep she had borrowed to drive over to his house debating if she should just run back to it and forget the whole thing. “Can I help you?” He asked, voice tired and scratchy. He didn’t look too great. He hadn’t shaved and he was in work jeans and shirt. She glanced behind him and saw the large bottle of whisky on the table by the door, mostly empty but he didn’t appear intoxicated. Hungover? Maybe. He looked like he had only just woken up and it was nearly 1PM. She wondered if he’d attempted to go into his job in the last month, but realized speculation was probably not the best move at the moment. </p><p>Not that Veronica had had a high opinion of the man when she had met him a few times when his son was alive. From what JD had confessed to her and what she had inferred from her awkward interactions with him he was never that warm or close of a father. He was cold and distant at best, toxic and angry at worst with a propensity to drink and an inability to stay too long in any one place. He was a man who had pushed the button to demolish a library his wife was in. At least according to JD.  Even not knowing all the details that kind of thing surely leaves a mark on a person, right? And out of the many things JD had told her she actually believed none of that had been a lie or exaggeration. She recalled what he had told her about his mother, and the look on his face when he took the bomb from her making sure she would live.</p><p>She had been shocked Bud Dean hadn’t packed up and left already. But, she guessed his son committing suicide was enough to cause him to linger for at least a little bit. “Hi, um, Mr. Dean? I’m Veronica.” He didn’t respond nor seem to recognize her. “Veronica Sawyer. We met a few times?” He rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair. She caught her breath a bit, she had seen JD do the same gesture.</p><p>“The girlfriend.” He stepped back and she walked in. “They, um… they told me you had tried to-” his voice cracked but he didn’t quite break into any true showing of emotion. “Stop him?” She nodded.</p><p>“Yeah. I couldn't- I’m sorry. He just made me stand back from him. He didn’t want me to get hurt when he…” <em> Blew himself up on the football field after I took the bomb from the boiler room. Your son at least wouldn’t let me die too. “I’ll trade my life for yours.” </em>Of course she had just followed the line she had given the authorities in the wake of the whole thing:</p><p>
  <em> “He had some sort of break. He thought I had committed suicide and told everyone. I ran after him and when I saw him in the football field he forced me back from him and then he detonated.”  </em>
</p><p>She had told herself it was as much about protecting his memory than her own hide but she knew the truth. Finding out about the pregnancy though only solidified her resolve to keep the truth buried. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a funeral here,” he told her. She had wondered why there had been nothing done. “I had them put a plaque next to his mother in Texas.” She nodded. The fire department hadn’t found anything to bury. They had tried not to tell her but she overheard anyway. And as much as she would have liked to have said goodbye she figured that was for the best. At least he was in some form next to his mom. </p><p>They stood in silence. She had to tell him. “Is there something of his you want or-” <em> Oh don’t worry, I’ve got something of his. </em></p><p>“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, worried she’d chicken out if she didn’t just say it. They stood there silently for about five extremely long minutes. He didn’t show any emotion.</p><p>“Oh.” He had no idea how to respond to that bomb. “Um, what are you, um, going to do?” He finally asked delicately, unsure how to address the situation of his dead son’s girlfriend informing him she was pregnant.</p><p>“I’m going to keep it. Um, raise it.” She looked at his face and couldn’t read it. “I don’t- I don’t want anything from you or anything. I just- I figured I should tell you since I can’t tell…” <em> Him. I can’t tell JD so you’ll have to do. </em> “He didn’t know. I didn’t find out until after.” He nodded.</p><p>“Okay. You know where his room is, right?” He asked, clearly needing a moment to process. She nodded as he walked towards what she remembered was his office. “You can take whatever you want. I’m not- I don’t need any of it.” He looked and sounded as if he had just seen a ghost.</p><p>She opened the door to the room and blinked. Nothing had moved since the last time he was in it, she realized. Including a half eaten sandwich and a half drank glass of milk that was still sitting on one of his boxes, mold growing on it. His father hadn’t even opened the door once, she realized. Dirty laundry was still in a pile next to his bed. Gingerly she picked up his black Blue Oyster Cult tour shirt from the pile and sat on his bed. A strange wave of nausea and hurt washed through her that had nothing to do with morning sickness. In vain she brought it to her nose and smelled it, hoping there was still the faintest hint of his smell. </p><p>
  <em> “JD…” She sighed as his lips played over her ear and nibbled the lobe delicately. They were in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, their back’s against the wall. Even though the guilt of Heather Chandler ate at her, she couldn’t deny how good his mouth felt on her. “I can’t stop thinking about what I-- we-- did.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It was an accident,” he reminded her. “Neither of us meant for it to happen.” His hand came up and gently rested over her breast- his thumb stroked the skin that was exposed by her robin’s egg blue halter milkmaid top. Heather Chandler had picked it out for her. She had told her her chest looked good in it.  “And she was cruel to not just others but to you as well.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know but…” Gently he lowered her head onto his pillow and she couldn’t remember what she had been worrying about before. Not when those deep brown eyes of his gazed into hers so tenderly. “Am I a bad person? I mean, I feel bad but not as bad as I should, knowing how mean she was. I don’t even miss her. Not really.” He looked at her tenderly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, sh sh sh. You’re not a bad person Veronica. I promise.” The back of his fingers gently ran down her face as he carefully stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes, addicted to his touch. “You’re the only good person I know.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You make me feel so special when you look at me like that,” she confessed, hoping it was not as creepy as it sounded. He smiled that secret smile of his. The one she felt like was only meant for her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You are special,” he agreed. “I love you.” She reached up and pulled his head down and began kissing him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I love you too,” she agreed. It was only a few moments later when he groaned as her questing fingers fiddled with the clasp of his belt. Carefully they flung their pesky clothing off, pushed their bodies as close together as possible, and cried out in ecstasy as they became one for a brief few moments. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He held her close in the afterglow of their lovemaking, her back pressed against his front. “You’re the most beautiful person in the world. I love you.” </em>
</p><p>Were they making their child that time? Or had it been before? After? She shook her head. They had only been together for a short time and surprisingly only had a handful of encounters-- as amazing as they had been. Why was she so preoccupied as to what time they were together had done the job? She was pregnant and he was dead. Quickly she wiped away the tears that had formed on her face. He was gone, what they had done was wrong and she was pregnant. She should hate him, curse his name, call him an asshole. Why couldn’t she stop loving him though? Craving the way he had made her feel. When things were good between them they were good. When things were bad though...</p><p>Slowly and carefully she set to work on the meager possessions of Jason Dean’s life. In the end it had been ten boxes. Ten cardboard boxes she carefully had tuckered into her father’s jeep. There had been room in the back for all of them. Who was she doing this for? Ostentatiously she thought about her future child and that they may have questions about their father, but feeling the soft fabric of his Blue Oyster Cult shirt, knowing his alive body had once worn it, and knowing she was going to wear it to sleep that night… she wondered. She also didn’t want to dwell on it. He offered them to her and she took them.</p><p>When she was finished she found Bud Dean at the table by the door with his checkbook out. He finished writing it, ripped it from the book, and handed it to her. She stared at it, unbelieving. Her eyes leveled at him. “That’s not- I’m not here for your money.” He didn’t react.</p><p>“Trust me. You’ll need it. When there’s kids you’ll never feel like you have enough money.” Tentatively she took it, wondering what JD would think of her taking it. A part of her wanted to tell him off- tell him what part he had to play in the whole drama of JD’s mental state, his actions had been his own but to say his father had no influence on him was to understate the matter completely. The other part of her felt bad for him. No matter what he was human and he had lost his son and that son’s girlfriend had just knocked on his door with a doozy of a revelation. “Leave me your address. I’ll make sure- I’ll make sure you and the-” <em> Baby, </em> Veronica finished for him in her head, <em> just say it: the baby. “ </em>Don’t need anything,” he finished. She nodded and wrote it down for him. “I’m leaving in a few days. A job in Reno. I probably won’t be this way again. Um, I’ll send you,” he held up his checkbook, “next month. And every month after.” </p><p>“You don’t have to-”</p><p>“Let me,” he said sternly. She nodded, not sure how to turn them down. Later when she told her parents and showed them the check they had told her not to feel weird. It was the least the man could do for her. That Monday after school she sat at the bank and her mother helped her open up a checking account for her to deposit it.  “Are your parents upset?” He asked, nervously.</p><p>“I’m not being disowned if that’s what you mean,” she told him. “They’re not cruel. We’re going to stay with them as long as I need to.” <em> We. “Get used to being a we,” mom had told me the other night. </em>He nodded. She turned to go.</p><p>“Can you send me a picture, maybe, if you can? I won’t bother you, I promise. But just- a picture?” She stopped dead and thought about it very carefully. She genuinely wished she could know what JD would think of all of this. <em> But you can’t ask him. He’s dead. Heather’s dead. Kurt and Ram are dead. You’re pregnant. Actions have consequences. </em></p><p>And dwelling on the wrongs of the world doesn't make them go away.</p><p>“I can,” she said, finally. She was unsure about all of this. Money, pictures… what if he wanted more one day? But her pity for him overwhelmed her, much to her surprise. The demon of JD’s childhood was suddenly so… human. He wanted pictures of what she now realized would biologically be his grandchild. He had no wife, no son… this was all the family he had left. All he wanted was a picture. She turned and walked to the door, the check feeling like lead in her hands. </p><p>“Wait!” She turned back to him at her car door. “And here. Take this.” He threw her something cold and metal. “Sell it, use it to get around… I don’t want it.” Curiously, she looked down at the keys surprised. JD’s bike.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> September, 1999 </em>
</p><p>Heather McNamara walked down the main street of Sherwood, Ohio feeling on top of the world. She couldn’t help but constantly steal glances down at her finger and watch how the large diamond on it sparkled in the sunlight. William Logan had, of course, gone to her father’s store to purchase it and daddy didn’t hesitate one minute when he showed him the tray she had long ago picked out when she used to work summers there and do the modeling for the print ads.</p><p>He had gone for the most expensive out of the rack, much to her surprise, but he could afford it. He was only 35 years old but already one of the youngest real estate moguls in the entire midwest and was in the process of making a deal to develop housing on the outskirts of Sherwood. From what she picked up at the table this would be a big deal not just for him but for Sherwood as well. Him and some of his friends had mentioned that they could get the banks to loan to more people and she thought that was actually very kind of him. She knew Veronica and her daughter had just a small condo, she’d make sure to try and get the very nicest set aside for one of her oldest friends.</p><p>Heather waited at the Starbucks on Main st for her to show up. How cosmopolitan Sherwood had gotten! A Starbucks! When she was in high school they were lucky to have a 7/11 and a McDonald's off the freeway. </p><p>“Get whatever you want! It’s on me! Have you had their frappuccinos?” She threw her arm out and clutched Veronica. “They’re like coffee milkshakes and majorly delish!” Veronica laughed, remembering how delightful Heather Mac could be. She gladly took her up and they headed to the table by the window with their cold drinks in hand. She sipped it, delighting at the cold sugary coffee and a pang went through her. They were a lot like slushies. “After this we simply have to go to Lenny’s for pizza. I haven’t had Lenny’s in forever!” Veronica laughed.</p><p>“It’s really good to see you Heather,” Veronica told her, meaning it. “I hate how out of touch we fell.”</p><p>“Oh my god, me too! Me too! We have to catch back up now that I’m back in Sherwood permanently. You must come over when we’re done decorating and setting up the house.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, of course,” Veronica said. “I’d invite you over to the condo, but well, with my things and Theo’s it’s not the best for company,” she said.</p><p>“Oh! Completely understand! Plus, my place is going to be perfect. I can’t wait to show it off. I completely want to do a housewarming party when we do. I want a really nice garden out back, the kind with roses. Maybe even set it up for croquet like we did in high school!  Oh, and that little one of yours! She’s always welcome over. Oh gosh, she’s nine now, isn’t she? Pictures! Pictures!” Heather clapped excitedly.  Veronica laughed and pulled out her wallet. She showed her her last school photo, all smiles and her legs crossed in her blue dress. “Aw,” she cooed loudly. “She’s adorable. Gosh, she looks just like you.” Veronica smiled and showed her the other one she kept in her wallet of the two of them at the lake from last summer on a towel, her hair wet from swimming with the same large grin on her face.</p><p>“Yep. Nine. She’s going to be too cool to smile like that in a photo next year,” Veronica chuckled. “They get so big so quickly,” she ruminated.</p><p>“I know! Last time I saw her she was, what? 3? 4?” Heather shook her head. “I can’t wait until Will and I start having them.” She reached out and squeezed Veronica’s hand. “I ever tell you how amazed I was at how you handled it all? I don’t think I could have done college and a baby.” Veronica smiled forlorn and shrugged.</p><p>“I don’t necessarily recommend doing it, but I made a decision. It was good for me and my parents helped a lot.” JD’s dad’s money helped a lot too. True to his word he still sent her a check a month and as much as she’d love to have been able to refuse it she couldn’t. He had been right, when you have kids there never seems to be enough money. In return she sent pictures and every year on Theo's birthday there was a card and present sent to her. She had started asking about why she’d never really met him but that was a part of the larger conversation about her father she had always tabled and knew would have to be dealt with soon. “Besides,” she continued with Heather, “senior year was hard and- well, you know that.” They both did. So many deaths, so many stresses, after the events of the fall it was hard for any of them to focus on just being teenagers graduating high school. </p><p>Well, considering Veronica’s Christmas gift was finding out she was pregnant, her focus had been on concealing it for as long as possible in order to keep gossip to the minimum and not have to transfer to night classes or something equally Scarlet Letter. She had visions of her parents telling people she was at an “aunt’s” house while really she was at some home for wayward girls. The reality in 1989 going into 1990 was a bit different she was glad to see. </p><p>She remembered the moment she had told her parents, bracing for their reaction. She had expected anger. She had expected tears. Life wasn’t always like a television movie of the week though. Instead what she got was her father brooding in the corner desperate to know who the father was and her mother holding her hands tightly searching her face. She told her parents the truth and realizing he was too dead to face any of the consequences her father’s anger subsided into concern for her.</p><p><em> “It’s not like when I was your age, honey.” her mother told her. “You have a choice. What do you want to do?” </em> She had spent so much time since finding out worrying about what they thought or others would think it hadn’t occurred to her that she did in fact have choices in this day and age. Something she greatly treasured.</p><p>Her decision to keep Theo surprised them, to be sure. Even more so that she wanted to raise her. Veronica never had any moral compunctions about other choices in regards to matters like these but… In the fall she had been complicit in the murders of three students. Part of her had some Catholic guilt that this was punishment for her crimes-- which was funny because she wasn’t Catholic but had hung around Betty Finn and her grandmother enough to at least take some in through osmosis -- and part of her felt she had to even out the ledger a bit. Heather Chandler, Kurt Kelly, Ram Sweeney, and Jason Dean were dead. In her mind at the time she thought it was only fitting that JD and she would have to bring one life into the world to try and make it right.</p><p>Of course, she was petrified of what others would think. She had heard rumors her whole high school career of why certain girls had disappeared half way through a semester.Whispers, giggles, snap judgments only certain mean girls could make, not accepting that it could just as easily happen to them. She had kept it mostly a secret until about March when it was a bit too difficult to hide in bulky clothing. Sherwood wasn’t a bible thumping town, but it was also fairly Mayberry. There had been a subtle attempt at the school to try and get her to transfer out but her mother had quite calmly explained to them they couldn’t do that under Title IX. Her father had threatened to make a case out of it if they tried and oh boy did they give it to them when they tried to ask her not to walk down the graduation ceremony. In the end she got her high school diploma, attended her graduation, and began at Ohio state-- only a forty minute drive from her house-- that fall, also taking a job ringing up groceries at the local A&amp;P. A part of her wondered what pre-JD Veronica would think of post-JD Veronica-- mother of a newborn, at state school, and bagging groceries-- but she quickly buried that Veronica. That Veronica may have dreamed of fancy pretentious colleges but she didn’t hate this new path either. When she started grad school and took the job at Westerberg’s counseling office as secretary she felt things clicking finally.</p><p>Other than the Timothy affair…  she had no regrets about the last ten years.<br/>
<br/>
“Gosh, no one ever believes me when I tell them,” Heather responded talking about senior year still. Heather’s rest of the year had of course not involved an unplanned pregnancy, but it was hardly a cake walk with her ex sort of boyfriend dead, her best friend dead, her other best friend freaking out over her positive test, and her other best friend-- Heather Duke-- withdrawing from everyone completely. Honestly, none of the other seniors were really feeling it. It had been the lowest attended prom in Westerberg history. </p><p>“And you? Senior year was so hard on you too,” Veronica said. She was clearly dancing around the time she found her in the girl’s room with sleeping pills. Heather looked to the side.</p><p>“I was talking to someone for a while about it,” she admitted. “My parents wanted it after- well, college was tough for me at the beginning.” Heather thought back to her first semester. She had tried to pledge but found herself woefully unprepared for broaching that world alone, without Heather Chandler to drag her around and help her along for the ride, or a cheerleader uniform to gain automatic acceptance. At college, it seemed, there were many girls just like her and there wasn’t enough room for someone without the teeth to push her way to the head of the line. One night someone in her dorm found her with the same sleeping pills…</p><p>It was a mess, she had to temporarily drop out and start so much over in the spring after she had an intense meeting with a doctor and a very short stay at a special clinic. All in all though, it helped. When she restarted school she focused on making friends and taking her classes outside of the greek scene and found it to be just as rewarding. She had also been seeing a therapist regularly since but… well, Will didn’t really believe in that sort of thing-- especially since he had started his tentative plans for running for office-- and Will was definitely the best thing in her life, wasn’t he? Well, that’s what her parents thought. They had practically welcomed him as the son they never had and told Heather that she better do her best never to let him go.</p><p>“So what about you?!” Veronica cried, putting the pictures away and getting off the topic of senior year. “That ring on your finger must add fifty pounds to your scale at least.” They laughed. She looked down at it in awe.<br/>
<br/>
“His name’s Will. I can’t wait to introduce you. He’s a little older and he owns a lot of real estate in the area. Heard about that new development?” Veronica had. “That’s his company. I met him in New York though. He was so surprised to meet another Ohio girl in the club we were in. Love at first sight is totally real.” He had blown her away. Nice dinners, tickets to shows… and he really impressed her mother and father. He was going places after all, and Heather had no problem following along with him.</p><p>“Wait, so how long have you been going out?” Veronica asked, surprised.</p><p>“Six months,” she replied. “I know, I know, it hasn’t been that long but- when you know, you know. You know?” Veronica smiled. She didn’t. Her own engagement fell apart two weeks after she had said yes. “Didn’t I hear something about you getting hitched? A few years ago?” Veronica darted her eyes away.<br/>
<br/>
“Didn’t work out unfortunately. He was nice, Theo adored him but… it didn’t work out.” Why did everyone want to know the why with her break up with Tim?</p><p>“Too bad,” she said honestly. “I mean, if it wasn’t meant to be I’m glad you found out before you made it official, but you deserve that kind of happiness.” With a smile, she grabbed her purse and rooted around until she produced her address book. “You know, Will has friends. Lots of single eligible male friends and I’d love-” Veronica put a halt on this train before it left the station.<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks Heather, but I’m good for right now. The two of us are good company.” She looked disappointed. “But if I change my mind you’ll be the first to know.” She smiled.</p><p>“I’ll make sure to invite them to the housewarming.” Veronica squirmed uncomfortably.</p><p>“Heather…”</p><p>“I won’t set you up if you don’t want it! I promise! But if I have a party and a nice guy <em> happens </em> to be there and you <em>happen </em>to hit off and he <em>happens </em>to like your daughter…” She smiled.</p><p>“I make no promises,” Veronica told her truthfully. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to date, it was just… the dreams… her terrible taste in men… She worried often if that sort of thing was just not possible for her to have. Heather McNamara though was a force to be reckoned with, she had almost forgotten. And she had always loved the idea of double dates and couple friends.  </p><p>“You know, we all should get together with Betty and her fiance.” Heather was taken aback.</p><p>“Betty Finn? Wow, you’re still friends with her?” There was a touch of snobbery in her tone Veronica found disconcerting.</p><p>“Of course. She teaches English at the school with me. Her fiance Rob works construction. Your fiance must have hired him for that housing development,” Veronica said stunned. She sometimes forgot that Heather was one of the mean girls in high school. Well, she had been too for a bit.</p><p>“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that,” she said honestly. “But you're right. We should. I’d love to get reacquainted with everyone here.” She tapped her foot, waiting to broach the next topic. “Anyway, I’ve been trying desperately to get in touch with Heather. You know how her parents moved to Florida and left her the house not long after graduation, right?” Veronica nodded. </p><p><em> Heather Duke, </em> Veronica thought, <em> slated to have been victim number four senior year if my conscience hadn’t stood up to JD. </em>“I don’t know why we lost touch. Just one of those things, I guess. But! I have a beat. Will knows the real estate agent that she just contacted about appraising it and possibly selling it for her. Guess who managed to weasel a phone number out of him?” She pointed to herself proudly. “Seems like she’s in Los Angeles and I’ve got her number.” Veronica swallowed her coffee awkwardly.</p><p>“That’s- that’s great. I hope we can all be reunited for this memorial,” Veronica lied. They threw their cups out and made their way down to Lenny’s for a couple of slices. As they sat down with their food Heather Mac looked uncomfortable for a moment. “We can- if you want- I know it wasn’t just Heather Chandler that died. I mean I wanted to say a little something about Kurt and Ram too since, well, Kurt and I had sort of been a thing even if… even if I was just a front for him.” Veronica was getting more uncomfortable by the moment. “But I know you and JD had been very hot and heavy before he-”</p><p>“Heather don’t. Please.” She swallowed the sand in her throat. “I- we don’t- if you want to do something for Heather or even for Kurt and Ram that's good. They were your friends and you should definitely do anything for them you’d like. But JD-” Heather shifted, wanting to help.</p><p>“I thought also maybe- maybe for… Theo we could?” Veronica’s blood went ice.</p><p>“Why would my daughter be concerned with any of this?” She asked her coldly.</p><p>“I’m sorry!" Heather responded, taken aback at the tone. "I didn’t-! Don’t be mad, I totally didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought-”</p><p>“The subject of Theo’s father is a strictly confidential matter. You know that. Only you, my parents, and Betty Finn know about it for sure.” And JD’s dad, but his last postmark had been California, so she hardly thought it mattered. </p><p>Heather Duke had never gossiped about it even if she did suspect. And if Heather Duke didn’t gossip about it, no one else did. Not even old “country club” Courtney-- as Heather C had dubbed the yuppie wannabe-- had done so. Much to her surprise.  If it were pity for what happened, fear over the look on her face when she walked into the cafeteria that Monday with the red scrunchie in her hair and Heather Duke avoiding her… she never knew. A lot of those types left Sherwood that fall and had never been heard from since.</p><p>“I’m so sorry I brought it up. I really am.” Heather Mac looked so sincere. Veronica retracted her claws..</p><p>“I’m sorry too. I know you were just being kind. Look, I’m just realizing I’m going to have to talk about him to Theo soon and… it has me a bit on edge. That’s all.” </p><p>“I understand. I’m so sorry. Look,” she said as they tossed their paper plates out. “Are you busy this afternoon? Come help me pick out curtains. It'll be so much fun.” Veronica laughed.</p><p>“I would love to but I have to get back to work Heather, my lunch is almost over and it’s about a twenty minute walk back.”</p><p>“That’s right! I’m sorry. Oh! I’ll give you a lift. My Benz is just at the end of the street.” She smiled at Heather, despite the hiccup she was glad she was back in Sherwood. </p><p>“Sometime soon you, me, Betty, Rob, you, and your guy-- we should all get drinks down at The Green Stone.” </p><p>“Oh my god. That place is still a place? I’ve never actually gotten a drink there with my real ID!” Veronica laughed as they slid into her brand new and shiny Mercedes. Veronica had forgotten what being friends with the rich kids was like. She thought of her little used Mazda still parked in the school parking lot. Why had she walked? Had she felt ashamed for Heather to see it? She tried to shake these odd notions from her head. They weren’t kids anymore.</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m sure it’s not as glamorous as the New York City bars but…” Veronica didn’t often feel the pang of a dream deferred-- she had once scribbled endlessly in her diary about running off to places like NYC or Paris-- but right then she did.<br/>
<br/>
Heather swatted her. “Oh please, those places are cool but so expensive! I’m sure I can get us all wasted and pick up the tab without a swat of an eyelash to my credit card.” Veronica laughed a little.</p><p>“Well, the chili fries are excellent there I will say. As are the fried pickles. Oh! And remember Rodney? From school?” It took Heather a minute.</p><p>“Oh my god. Stoner guy. Totally baked all the time, a little weird but always funny? Yeah. Rodney, wow. Haven’t thought of him in years.”</p><p>“He owns the place. He’s actually on the Sherwood Small Business Owners Council if you can believe that. He took it over last year after his dad died and left him enough insurance money to buy out the owner.” </p><p>“Wow. That is crazy! I can’t wait.” Heather pulled up to Westerberg. “Oh my god, it looks exactly the same.”</p><p>“It was crazy my first day here, walking through the halls on the other side from the students.”</p><p>“I bet. I’m tempted to wander around and take a tour out of nostalgia. Maybe another day. Oh! Here’s my number.” She wrote it down on a slip from her purse. “Call me and we’ll set that right up this weekend. That would be crazy amounts of fun.” She leaned in and quickly hugged Heather.</p><p>“It’s so good to have you back in town.” </p><p>“Same!” Veronica waved to the car as she drove off.</p><p>After her shopping was done Heather pulled up to the driveway of her new house. <em> Her house. </em> How wonderful did that sound? She walked in the door to find her fiancee on the recently purchased coach with papers spilled out over their recently acquired coffee table. She put her bags down as she locked the door behind her. “Hi honey, I’m home!” Heather called to him in an effort to be funny. He didn’t laugh.</p><p>“Oh, hey. Where were you?” Will asked absently.</p><p>“Oh, just taking care of some errands. Shopping for some house stuff. I got us the most perfect lawn furniture picked out. I put it on the registry. I also met an old friend from high school for lunch.” She started unpacking her bags. “Also these!” She held up the lace curtains she had bought for their gorgeous picture windows, hoping for a reaction, any reaction. Will didn’t notice. With a smidge of sadness she put them on the table to install later.</p><p>“An old friend, that’s nice,” he went back to his papers. She had shown him his yearbook. She had been the captain of the cheerleading squad and in nearly every picture. He knew she had been popular in her hometown and not a single bad photograph. That had been impressive. “Who?” He asked, mildly curious.</p><p>“Veronica Sawyer. You remember? I told you about her.” <em> Veronica Sawyer… </em> he looked up and tried to remember. <em> Which one was she again? </em>  “We were all in the same little clique in high school when our friend Heather, well, I told you all about that,” she told him sadly. It dawned on him finally.</p><p>“Veronica? The one with the kid when she was eighteen? That never married?” He asked, a little rudely. She blanched back at him, shocked he’d reduced the girl-- and she’d told him the whole story!-- who grabbed the pills from her and helped her even though Heather Duke had merely taunted her as just some “single mother.”</p><p>“Well, yes.” She chose to ignore the tone of his voice. Work and starting a campaign was stressful. That was why she decided to take on the task of planning the wedding and setting up the house all by herself. “Oh Will, I saw the pictures! Oh my gosh is she just the sweetest!” She sat next to him on the couch and wrapped an arm around him. “It, well, kind of makes me think about when we, you know…” She playfully walked her fingers up his arm in suggestion. He ignored her subtle hint about starting a family.</p><p>“It’s just… honey, you know how I’ve been talking to people about starting a campaign?” She nodded. It was ALL he ever talked about. “We have to be careful about what crops up in our circles, and cultivating the right contacts.” He had been driven mad by it lately. He was running on a conservative ticket, but Ohio was unpredictable unlike many of the other midwestern states and he was treading carefully. He had been told to play up his pretty young fiancee, give the appearance of some social progression-- but not too much. It was a delicate balancing act that was giving him a massive migraine and ulcer. <br/>
<br/>
“But, it’s Veronica,” Heather said as if it were not even remotely a big deal. “Veronica Sawyer! We’ve been friends for years! She works at the high school, her parents have a house down on Maple Drive.” Whilst not the most upper class of neighborhoods in Sherwood when she was growing up, it was an older neighborhood and the houses were now seen as classic, especially now that the school district had outshone the neighboring ones and Sherwood in general was seen as a better suburban option. In the last ten years their property value had risen steadily and become quite a desirable neighborhood for many upper middle class members of the community. At least according to what she overheard from Will and his friends at dinners and other get together's since arriving back in Sherwood. “Veronica was the nicest person in the world to me that awful senior year.”</p><p>Will’s expression changed instantly as he realized she wouldn’t let this go. He smiled at his fiancee and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He took his gentle tone to her that Heather always thought of as so sweet. “I know she’s an old friend but… Heather, we're running on a ticket of family values.”<br/>
<br/>
“Will, it's 1999, not ‘69, and it’s Veronica Sawyer, not Murphy Brown. Besides, I told you, the memorial…”</p><p>“That is important to you, I know,” he agreed. “Just be careful of any photographs of the two of you?” He asked, still rubbing her the wrong way. “For now at least. I’ll ask Joey,” his campaign manager, “just in case, okay? But I guess for now it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” He gently chucked her chin.<br/>
<br/>
“Um, okay?” Heather replied, confused. He smiled, and lightly petted her on the head. </p><p>“That’s my girl. And besides, we’ll be so busy soon. There’s a wedding, you’re decorating a whole house for us. And campaigning is practically a full time job.” He kissed her and gently laid her down on the couch. She smiled suggestively back at him. His eyes washed over her appreciating the whole package. <em> Pretty, approachable, well spoken but not too intellectual, biddable, and local. All my tick marks. </em>He had really scored big with her. “Gosh, you’ll look so pretty up on that platform next to me.” She laughed and enjoyed any compliment from him he gave her. “And,” he said, kissing her, “after the wedding, starting a family…” His lips lingered and she’d agree to anything in that instant. “You’re a smart girl to hitch yourself to me.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it,” she said, almost believing it completely herself before pulling him in for a little ride on the couch.</p><p>The next morning after breakfast Heather McNamara-- soon to be Logan-- picked up her phone and dialed the California number she had. </p><p><em> This is Heather Duke. Please leave a message after the beep. </em>Her machine answered. “Hey Heather, guess who it is? Heather! McNamara!” She laughed. “Sorry, this is actually serious. I tracked down your number from your real estate agent. You’re a hard one to pin down. Please call me back ASAP, okay? My number is 555 3212.” She hung up the phone. About twenty minutes later the phone rang back.</p><p>“Hello? Heather?” An old familiar voice intoned.</p><p>“Oh my god, Heather it’s so good to hear from you!”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Meanwhile In the boiler room of Westerberg... </em>
</p><p>JD paced back and forth trying to make sense of everything-- or anything really. He was still not corporeal or visible-- as he realized that afternoon when one of the custodians had come downstairs to check on the heating system. “I hope you like the return of the black clothes, boots and coat. I’m always a fan of giving people their iconic and classic look,” the demon-- Azazel-- told him. There was an easy laugh to him JD was still unable to process.</p><p>He was having trouble processing and remembering a lot of things. Snippets. He could remember who he was, his life, moving to Westerberg-</p><p>A girl. A pretty girl with brown eyes and black hair. One who’s smile- “Veronica!” He exclaimed, his memories of her flooding back. Her laughter, her brains, her snark… how he made her feel. He loved her, she had loved him. But.. she had been in danger. “Is Veronica okay?” The grotesque demon in front of him stared at him, fatherly. He took his hands, trying to comfort them. JD remembered there had been a bomb. One that… oh god. <em> A bomb in the basement I had planted. Underneath the school. And one I had taken away from-  </em></p><p>He stumbled back, coughing. He had… killed people, almost blew the gym up… and Veronica-</p><p>“Relax, relax. She’s fine,” the creature told him soothingly. “You died for her just like you said you would. Sweet Veronica is fine.” He looked down at his hands and body. They were so much… older. That’s right. He was 27, not 17. He had been somewhere for the last-</p><p>Ten years. His whole body staggered at the realization. He couldn’t remember but it definitely had been ten years since-</p><p>Since he took the bomb from Veronica and blew himself up. “Am I dead?” He ran his hands over his face and then his hair. He was surprised to find hair on his hardened face. When he was a teenager he shaved, yes, but not enough had ever come in to give him any real beard.</p><p>“No. You didn’t die. I made sure you went elsewhere. I didn’t have many choices but… you got to live.” JD looked around him, it was a boiler room. The one from his high school? Westerberg High. In Sherwood, Ohio.</p><p>“Elsewhere? Why can’t-? I can’t remember much.” He was starting to remember his last look at Veronica-- disheveled, hurt, and with tears in her eyes-- and he nearly vomited. Or he would have if he was completely corporeal. What had he done? He had no idea why he wanted to kill so badly as a teenager or to blow up the school. He walked over to the pipes and tried to grab at one, but his hand went through it. “Hey, hey, hey,” the demon said with genuine concern. “Pulling you from that dimension was hard and I couldn’t quite make you corporeal. Not yet. I’m working on it, I promise. I only just got free to come here myself. It’ll take some time before I can get you back completely too.” JD paced, scared. “You don’t remember completely but I’ve been taking care of you for a long time.” JD stared at him, scared and unsure. "You can trust me." He was definitely unsure of that.</p><p>“Where have I been? I remember-” He closed his eyes and only saw fire. He gasped. “Was I in hell?” He asked, desperate for answers. The demon seemed undecided what to call it. </p><p>“Well… Strictly speaking it was a ‘hell-like’ dimension rather than hell itself. There’s a ton of those on top of actual hell. Since you weren’t dead that’s where you were. And as far as that goes it was kind of the Wyoming of them. I mean, we know it exists but have you ever actually met anyone from there?”</p><p>“I… only remember…” He coughed, the images of riding around in a truck with a gun, trying to stay alive and fire-- a world on fire--  filled his mind. </p><p>“Yeah, probably for the best. You’re time there wasn’t… pleasant. I think it may be too much for your human brain to process.” Ignoring that he was still trying to process his final moments on earth. Proper earth. The bomb... Veronica...</p><p>“My head, it was so-” He stared at the demon, shocked. “I killed people. A girl-”</p><p>“Kind of an accident slash crime of opportunity, I’d say-- not exactly premeditated.</p><p>“But- I didn’t want to kill those boys. I didn’t want to kill that girl. I mean, I did but-” He looked back and forth confused and started to bang his hand against his head. “My head was so messed up, I couldn’t-”</p><p>“Look,” the demon said. “When I met you, you needed a little push, I know. You wanted to do all those things, but you were weak, too scared to do them on your own.” JD stared at the gnarled creature. “I became your friend, became one with you. You were confused and I was there to show you the way. Remember that girl? Veronica?” He remembered her, the funny girl who flirted with him, made him feel not so alone, loved him and he loved back. Her kiss was like magic. “Remember? That girl? Those boys? They hurt her.” He looked him dead in the eye. “They hurt Veronica.”</p><p>JD shook, starting to finally understand some of what had happened ten years. He needed to escape from this form. From this demon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments always appreciated. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Riding the Underground, Swimming in Sweat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we see events from a different perspective, Heather Duke catches us up on her life, and we see what JD's up to in the boiler room.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! Thanks to the comments and kudos.</p><p>I'm stepping out of my comfort zone to write some F/F stuff for Duke. But I like challenging myself and forcing myself from the comfort zone so I really hope it works out. Please forgive me if it doesn't. No offense is meant.</p><p>Trigger warning for eating disorders too. I do not credit myself an expert, and again I mean no offense.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>October, 1989</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>Homecoming Party: </em> </strong> <strong> <em>Kurt Kelly’s House</em> </strong></p><p>Heather Duke took her third shot for the evening and chased it down with her lime wine cooler. Tequila always went down easier that way. She felt the liquor finally buzz through her system as she wandered from outside back in.</p><p>“Heather!” Heather M called to her, holding up the tequila bottle. She was standing on top of the coffee table with half of the football team looking up her skirt. “Do one more with me!” She slurred. Duke was in the mood to get plastered tonight.</p><p>“Yeah, why not?” They ended up doing two. Heather D left her giggling, with one of the football players hand on her ass. She slightly staggering as she walked. Her wine cooler was done and in its place she was given a red cup with beer in it. </p><p>“Hey Heather,” Kurt Kelly said as he raised one arm and trapped her between his body suggestively. It was the price for the beer. She wanted to gag, but remembered this was one of the most desirable boys in school and no amount of liquor would make her lose face by not acquiescing to his demands. She had to keep up the facade of being ready, willing, and able for any of the approved male population of Westerberg.</p><p>“Hey Kurt! I think I saw some freshmen try to get into the party,” a girl said, concerned. Veronica Sawyer. Kurt took off in search of this non-entity.</p><p>“Hey, you alright? You looked like you could use a save.”<em> Oh god, she thinks she’s helping. </em> </p><p>“God Veronica, fuck you.” She may have been right about the undesirability of his attention, but she needed to keep up appearances as best as she could. Veronica stared at her, stunned.</p><p>“Fine. I was just trying to help.” She grabbed her own red cup and wandered over to the kids who were passing the pipe back and forth. She hadn’t meant to snap at Veronica but she was petrified of the truth being discovered. It was a very careful persona she kept up and she knew it would be far worse to be known as that than as simply a bitch. </p><p>Heather Chandler’s blond curls bobbed back and forth as she loomed over the party like she was a Queen and everyone else were her subjects. Without thinking Duke became mesmerized by it, the liquor breaking down some of her careful resolve. She was wearing a red lacy halter. She loved her in that halter top. She smiled her Cheshire smile as she saw Heather Duke and grabbed her hand pulling her towards her playfully. She had been talking to Kurt and Ram and they were all clearly somewhat drunk. She was also toying with them. Heather Chandler fucked frat guys, not high school boys but she needed to make sure they wanted her nonetheless.</p><p>She slipped her arm around Duke’s waste playfully to tease the boys. “Heather! Ram and Kurt were just debating which kind of three-way was kinkier: two girls and a guy or two guys and a girl. I argued it would be hotter if we tag teamed them.” Duke groaned inwardly, but remembered the front she needed to maintain. </p><p>“Oh yeah, totally hot.” She giggled as Heather pulled her against her closer. Duke reacted almost immediately but kept it together. “But I don’t know, never say never, right Heather?” She drawled flirtatiously to the boys who started chuckling in a crude manner at the thought.</p><p>“You guys should make out, that would make this party epic.” Both Heathers inwardly rolled their eyes at that but Chandler-- ever the manipulator and queen-- jsut laughed.</p><p>“Oh don’t you guys wish. Might take a few more shots for that!” She turned to Duke. “I need to pee, Heather come with me.” Heather Chandler always believed girls needed to pee in groups. They left the Wonder Twins to contemplate their conversation. Heather’s stomach flipped knowing that at some point tonight she’ll probably wind up with Kurt’s hand up her shirt or more, but so was the price of popularity. She had wanted to be as untouchable as possible.</p><p>She wished she could be like Chandler, so mighty and queenly she could do whatever she wanted and still be beloved. She was truly untouchable. She may have toyed with the boys on the football team for fun, but she didn’t have to give in to them. Being in her shadow afforded protection, but what she really wanted was to be her. She wanted to be as untouchable and perfect as Heather Chandler. </p><p>Well, that and fuck her. She’d wanted to do that since the 8th grade slumber party when she was dared to practice kissing boys on her. She had pulled away from it laughing but that night as she slept the realization crept into her: <em>I like kissing girls.</em></p><p><em>Keep that buried as deep as possible</em>, she reminded herself.</p><p>There was a spare bathroom attached to Kurt’s parent’s room that no one usually used at these parties and Duke and Chandler made their way up there. Heather Duke fixed her makeup and hair in the mirror at Kurt’s mom’s vanity as Chandler took her pee. “Passion Red Heather? Really? You think with your complexion you could pull off anything darker than Peachy Pink?” She scoffed, and Duke immediately felt less than. "Besides, Passion Red is my signature color Heather. You know that." Chandler was perfect. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect figure, perfect makeup. Anything short of her was imperfect.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Duke mumbled. “The girl at the store said-” Chandler chuckled.</p><p>“She wanted a commission and probably was told to push those tubes.” Duke moved to the side so Chandler could fix her own lipstick carefully, ignoring the recent digs at Duke and going back to their conversation with Kurt and Ram. “God, can you believe they seriously think we would ever do a threeway? Especially with them? Gag me. For real. Gross.” Heather Duke laughed. “Why two idiots like that were blessed with athletic skills and good looks but absolutely no brains I’ll never figure out.” She checked her teeth to make sure there was no lipstick on them before taking a piece of toilet paper and carefully blotting her lips. She turned to her hair carefully fluffing it up.</p><p>“Do you have any Aquanet?” She asked.</p><p>“My purse is in your car,” Duke replied and Chandler groaned. </p><p>“Next time keep it with you.” She finished her hair and the two girls stumbled out into the bedroom. Chandler stumbled slightly, drunker than she probably thought she was. </p><p>“Hey Heather, sit down for a second, okay?” Duke told her, slightly concerned. Chandler could knock 'em back at the parties and she didn't want to have to carry her home tonight. The two girls sat on the bed, getting their heads straight. </p><p>“Ugh, maybe we can pawn Veronica off on one of them so they can get off of you. I’ll take you to a Remington party soon. Maybe Joe’s roommate needs a date.” Joe was the frat boy she was seeing at the moment. They didn’t know much about him other than he was a business management major and drove a Benz.</p><p>“I dunno, she seems majorly into that new kid JD. She was two seconds away from ditching us for him earlier.” Chandler groaned loudly.</p><p>“Oh god, she would give it up in the parking lot behind the 7/11 to that freak, wouldn’t she? Slut couldn’t be more obvious. Sure he’s cute but, Jesus, have some standards. And I did not put in all that work to raise her up just for her to lose her virginity to some psycho with a motorcycle.”</p><p>“Well, I guess there’s always you and me tag teaming Kurt and Ram to placate them,” Duke joked. Chandler laughed as she fell back against the bed. Duke followed suit, both their intoxicated brains jumping from one thought to the next.</p><p>“Yuck. Seriously, though,” Heather continued, a light slur to her speech. “if I was going to be with another girl-- not that I’m a lez-- but if I was I think it would definitely not be with any guys involved. I mean, it would give them too much of a thrill, right? You?” </p><p>“Oh yeah, totally.” Duke just agreed, too scared to accidentally reveal too much to Chandler.</p><p>They laid against the bed silently for a few moments. Duke worried for a moment that Chandler may have accidentally passed out a little. Without warning Heather Chandler rolled over, leaned in, and pressed her lips against Heather Duke’s. Duke’s entire body reacted and reacted with wild abandon. The kiss was surprisingly tender and sweet and heated up quicker than Duke could ever imagine. Duke couldn’t believe it was happening and kept waiting for it to stop, for her to laugh but it didn’t. It got more heated and in the moment she slipped her hand under the loose lace halter top Heather Chandler was wearing to find that she was not wearing any bra. </p><p>Chandler moaned as Duke caressed her bare back and brought her hands to her front, finally living out every fantasy she had secretly been harboring since she met the girl in middle school. “God Heather,” Duke whispered against Chandler’s lips, her lust, resolve, and alcohol leaving her with absolutely no control of her emotions and actions. “I can't believe this is happening," she breathed as her lips moved to her neck. She was ready to strip the halter off of her and Chandler's moans and sighs only urged her on. "Do you know how often I fantasized about this?”</p><p>As suddenly as it began it stopped. With a violent push Heather Chandler was standing up next to the bed, shaking and wiping her lips furiously. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Heather said, scandalized. </p><p>“I was just- but we were-'' Heather Duke was shaking and confused, still quite aroused but now cold was sweeping in canceling it out. <em> You kissed me! </em>She wanted to scream.</p><p>“Oh my god!” Heather Chandler cried, her lips twisting into a cruel smile at the realization. She laughed in her signature cruel manner. The one Heather Duke had heard about other people but lived in fear of at her own expense. “You’re a lesbian! Like, a real one!” Heather Duke froze. It wasn’t something she had truly verbalized to herself yet but hearing it so plain- </p><p>She was. And now soon everybody would know.</p><p>“And of course you’ve been fantasizing about fucking me! God, who doesn’t?! Am I even free of this curse from people I thought were my own friends?! God. As if Heather. Even if I was into that sort of thing do you really think it would be with some fat cow like you?” Duke sat on the bed, wrapping her arms around herself as tears started to roll down her cheeks. She had thought- she had been so convinced- “I’m going to tell everyone at school Monday morning. I can’t wait until everyone finds out. Don’t even think of sitting at our table with us.”  </p><p>Heather Chandler whipped open the door and staggered out, her look changing on her face in an instant. “Hey Heather!” Mac told her when she spotted her and grabbed her arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Martha Dumptruck finally showed up!” Duke tried to pull herself together. <em> Fix this. Before they all know. </em>“Heather! Come on!” Mac called behind her to Duke. “This is going to be great!”</p><p>“Be right there!” She called, straightening herself out. </p><p><em> Who the hell does she think she is to threaten you? She came on to you. </em>The voice came from inside her but it wasn’t… quite her. Duke’s fear and sadness was starting to ebb into anger. The voice was right.</p><p>
  <em> Who the fuck does Heather Chandler think she is? Heather Chandler is one bitch that deserves to die. </em>
</p><p>She spotted a half bottle of tequila someone left behind earlier and grabbed it, knocking it back plain. It burned going down, but that suited her just fine in that instant.</p><p><em> That bitch. </em> Well, if Duke was going to be ended after this weekend she better have a great time now. Her mood completely changed; she staggered from the room and saw the scene of Heather's cruel prank play out from the back. Chandler and Veronica were in some heated argument and nasty words were exchanged. A moment later Veronica vomited on Heather’s shoes. Duke smiled cruelly. <em> Good. Lick it up. </em>It was like the record stopped as Chandler looked at Veronica in disgust though.</p><p>“That’s it,” Heather said. “You’re done. Monday morning you’re history.” She saw Veronica grab her purse and storm out of the party. Well, Monday sure was going to be a busy day for Heather Chandler and the dissolution of her power clique. She ended up sneaking out of the party and stumbling home, falling asleep in her dad's car.</p><p>Saturday morning after the party Heather Duke barely felt the hangover that clung to herself as she drove to Chandler's house. </p><p><em> Do it. Go to her house. </em> The voice was directing her and keeping her focused on what she knew she had to do. Not just for her, but for everyone that bitch Heather Chandler hurt just to keep herself propped up. In fact, it was all very clear. <em> Dear God, please kill Heather Chandler, </em>she prayed as she popped over to Chandler’s house to have a little chat with her about the cruelty of playing with someone’s emotions and threatening to expose them. You know, with rat poison. As one does.</p><p>Luckily her parents kept rat poison underneath the kitchen sink from a few months ago when a couple of strays found their way in. Quietly she prepared a cup of coffee and sprinkled it in, knowing Chandler's parents weren’t due back from brunch with grandma until well after 4. Purposefully she carried the white cup and dainty saucer in her hand picturing Chandler sipping it like the proper lady she was, choking, then falling head first onto her white carpeting... just like a proper lady.</p><p>“Oh Heather!” She sang pleasantly. “I have a little hangover cure for you. We really need to talk…” She could feel the rat poison in her hand and her determination to end Heather Chandler’s reign as queen of Westerberg clearer and clearer as the second’s tick away. “Heather? Come on. Last night we were both drunk and that party got crazy.” She knocked one more time. “We said some things, did some things. Hey! We never held being drunk against each other before.” There was still no answer. Duke scoffed. “The silent treatment Heather? Really? How mature.” She pushed the door open anyway.</p><p>She gasped and dropped the saucer on the carpet, it shattering to a million pieces as she did so. Sprawled out, wearing only her red silk kimono was the corpse of Heather Chandler, queen of Westerberg high. Her first thought was to groan. <em> God, even dead she still looks perfect. </em> Her second was to get the fuck out of there, glancing at the ground to see the spilled tea and broken cup with rat poison in it. <em> Holy fuck, the police might think- </em></p><p><em> Well, you were about to. </em> Guilt and fear pulsed through her at once with the realization of what she had almost done. Suddenly it was not so clear and suddenly her hangover, the one she should have had, gripped her in the guts. She tore out the room to Chandler’s bathroom and vomited. She went to autopilot and cleaned it up and quickly cleaned up the coffee and saucer mess, tossing it in Chandler’s waste bin, hoping that no one would notice it. She backed out of the room and closed Heather’s bedroom door behind her and tore off away from the crime scene.</p><p>She barely had time to think of it at all. But when she did? She thanked god and any divine power for whatever happened to take care of the job for her. She got exactly what she wanted and didn’t even get her hands dirty. Best not to dwell on any guilt. She hadn’t done it, someone or something else had. And hey, she wasn’t wrong in wishing her dead. Heather Chandler had come on to her and then threatened to tell everyone in the school? She grabbed her sunglasses and flipped them on, smiled, and tore off in her dad’s car and hit the road.</p><p>Her stomach ached, suddenly empty from vomiting earlier. She spotted the McDonald’s exit of the road and pulled in before correcting herself. <em> No… the calories. </em>Yet…</p><p>How many times had Chandler called her fatty? No one else did that. Well, and no one was ever going to do that again. <em> Who the hell is going to stop me now?  </em>With a wicked smile she swung to the take out window of the McDonald's. “Hi, can you give me two Big Macs, a large fries, a large vanilla milkshake, and an order of McNuggets? Thanks.” She swung to the next window and took her food gladly. </p><p>“Headed to a party or something?”</p><p>“Sure am!” She said back in a chipper manner to the girl at the drive-through. She sucked down the milkshake greedily, her stomach desperate for more calories than it had ever been in her life. She pulled to the side of the road off the highway at a picnic rest stop. She got out, the fall wind clipping her hung over and emotional state. She took her food and proceeded to stuff her face with all of it, relishing the taste of the crispy fries, the meaty burgers, and the breaded chicken in sweet and sour sauce. Between the stress of Heather Chandler’s threats, the hangover from the tequila, and her body’s own selfish craving that she usually denied herself she ate every single bit of it. When she was done she stared at the empty wrappers and waited. She waited for the usual revulsion to hit after she had any major binge. <em> The urge to purge. </em>But it didn’t happen.</p><p>Perhaps she was finally free. </p><p>
  <em> Dear god, thank you for taking care of Heather Chandler for me. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p><strong> <em>1999<br/>
</em> </strong> <strong> <em>Los Angeles</em> </strong></p><p>Heather Duke was perched against the bar top at the Hidden Box scanning the crowd in front of her, eyeing the different women out on the dance floor. <em> Too many couples tonight, </em>she moaned as she sipped on her gin and tonic. She turned back to Gladys the bartender and ordered another one. She put the drink down and chuckled. “You on the prowl tonight?” Heather shrugged. It was gentle ribbing on her part, she didn't mean anything cruel by it.</p><p>“Always on the lookout,” she teased back. They were friends and Gladys was always there on Saturday nights. She was in a committed relationship of fifteen years with her partner Linda but enjoyed living vicariously through Heather Duke’s hookups and pickups. </p><p>Heather glanced down at the other end of the bar and nearly fainted. A delicately stunning girl with soft blonde curls and a silver sparkly halter top and leather pants was all by her lonesome sipping a champagne cocktail and was almost finished.  “Who is that?” Heather asked, rather forwardly to Gladys, referring to the blonde. The bartender smiled seeing the familiar pattern of Heather play out.</p><p>“She’s a Playmate. Miss August to be precise.” Heather gave her a look that said ‘get out of here.’ “No! For real.” Quietly she reached for the Playboy under the counter and quickly showed her the centerfold from a few months ago. Heather’s eyes bulged and then back to the young girl who for some reason was still completely unattended. </p><p>“What’s her deal? You know?”</p><p>“Been sitting there all night sipping champagne cocktails like a shy boy at a middle school dance. Doesn’t look like she’s been to a place like this before. But it does say in her bio that she is ‘open to all possibilities.’” Heather liked the sound of that. </p><p>“A) I love that you read the centerfold's bios. B) I’ll get her next round,” Heather said. Gladys chuckled.This club after all was her hunting grounds and Heather did love a model. </p><p>“Of course you will. And her turns on are dancing till dawn, puppies, and cuddling with a romcom at home. Turns off are negativity and smoking.”</p><p>"Thanks for the tip." Heather watched from the end of the bar as the young lady received another drink after finishing her own to her surprise. The bartender pointed to Heather and the girl blushed. <em>Oh come on, I can’t be the first woman to ever buy you a drink. </em>With a smile she walked down to the end of the bar.</p><p>“So, I have to confess,” she said nervously. “Men do it all the time and I usually get annoyed by it, but I’ve never had a woman buy me a drink before. Somehow it doesn't feel as pushy.” Heather smiled back.<em> Looks like I am. </em></p><p>“First time in a place like this?”<br/>
<br/>
“How’d you guess?” She asked, looking more self-conscious. </p><p>“Nothing wrong with it, you just looked nervous.” She laughed.</p><p>“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been out with girls and stuff before but never to a bar on my own. I had nothing else to do tonight and just- I don’t know. I’m babbling. Thank you for the drink is what I meant to say.” She smiled at her and Heather found it contagious, she had a cute smile. </p><p>Heather laughed. “You’re welcome. I came here by myself tonight too. I thought we could keep each other company.” They talked lightly and finished up their drinks. They ended up dancing a few times, and Heather bought the girl another one.</p><p>“Oh, come on, let me get the next round. I know I look young, but I can afford it, really. I know all the girls in LA say they're a model but I've actually had a ton of spreads lately.”</p><p>“Pretty girls never buy their own cocktails,” Heather responded, getting buzzed and very flirtatious. The girl rewarded Heather’s advances with the most charming blush. It was almost as if no one had ever called this picture perfect painting pretty before. It boggled Heather's mind. Eventually Heather asked the girl to come back to her place and the matter was settled.</p><p>The next morning Heather awoke to the smell of flowers next to her. Smiling, she detangled herself from the model with the soft blond curls and went to make some coffee and started her computer up. She made herself a cup and went back to connect the phone line to the modem and a minute later she was online and connecting to her email. Her job was a lot. She was currently doing press for a girl pop star. They were selling her on her squeaky clean image and even made some hoopla over her purity ring that her dad had given her. Heather thought it was weird and gross-- especially compared to what Madonna and her ilk had been about in her own teen years-- but it was what was selling right now. </p><p>She groaned. The young pop idol had gone out last night, gotten drunk, and was all over the lap of some DJ wannabe that she was told in the email was up and coming in the rave scene. Now the young pop star wanted to do an album with him and break out of her clean image. She rubbed her head. The girl was insisting to her label she wanted to write the songs herself. </p><p>But this was what Heather was good at. First she’d beg and bribe the owner of the photos not to sell to the tabs and then she’d have to have a sit down talk with the girl and tell her that this so-called DJ was mooching off of her. She could hardly blame the naivete of the girl. She had been a child actress on a kid’s singing and dancing show and only recently transitioned to regular pop. She’d barely had a childhood let alone a teenagehood to figure this stuff out. </p><p><em> It was too early for this</em>, Heather thought. “Come back to bed,” a small voice called from her bed. She turned around and stared at the undressed model she had brought home from the club last night lounging on her 500 thread count sheets. </p><p><em> Julie</em>? Heather wondered. <em>Jessica</em>? God, she needed to get better about remembering their names but in some ways she liked the anonymity of it. Miss August she’ll call her. Her friends called her a serial modelizer but she didn’t mind, not on a morning like this when said gorgeous model was trying to cajole her back for one more tumble before she sent her off with a false promise of dinner next week and a vague, “I’ll call you.”</p><p>“I’ll be right there beautiful. I just need to get to answering these emails.” The girl giggled.</p><p>“You know, agents, directors, photographers-- all men-- they call me beautiful all the time but when you do it… I don’t know. It feels different.” This girl was a trip in the best way possible. Heather shut her monitor off and disconnected the internet, plugging her regular phone back in. Work could wait another hour.</p><p>“That’s because I mean it.” She sauntered over to the bed in her green negligee and silk robe. “I’m not looking to exploit your perfection...” She pulled the sheet down staring at her perfect body and straddled her around her hips. “I’m looking to appreciate it for the artwork it is.” Carefully she tucked her hair behind her ear before tugging the string holding her own robe on and letting it drop on the bed behind them. </p><p>For years Heather Duke binged and purged to try and look like this girl. A look that came to this girl with little work naturally. She used to envy it. After years of therapy-- and a stint in an outdoor hippy learn to love your body clinic-- she no longer abused her body like that. Instead she wanted to fuck it. On a regular basis. If she couldn’t be it, she wanted to possess it. </p><p>Somewhere in the recesses of her mind or perhaps because it was the ten year anniversary of her death but her thoughts wandered to Heather Chandler. What would her former friend think of her now? In her million dollar apartment and a playboy centerfold in her bed?</p><p>Would she be jealous it wasn’t her she was straddling? That night at the party, she hadn’t imagined it-- Heather Chandler had made a clear move on her and she had liked it. She never could suss out Heather Chandler and what that had all been about. Straight but drunk and curious? Gay? Bi? The Kinsey scale was a mystery sometimes. Heather Duke on the other hand had realized she truly was a lesbian the day at UCLA she had met Katie.</p><p>Katie was her roommate for the whole four years they were in Phi Kappa Nu. They weren’t open and public about it-- but privately? They were in love and told themselves that often. They would stay up late giggle, watch movies, and cuddle. They may have gone on a few public dates with frat guys for face but they both knew it meant nothing. They were devoted to each other, hopelessly.</p><p>She had confessed everything about her friendship with Heather Chandler, how they had started to hook up and then she threatened her. She did leave out the part about having gone to her house with rat poisoning but for the grace of god Heather had killed herself first… but Heather Duke always thought that was a minor trifle.</p><p>It’s not like she had actually killed the girl. She had only been just about to.</p><p>Katie was convinced the whole thing was abusive and it was regrettable she died but she wasn’t sorry she was out of her talons. Katie was tender with her. Loving. When they kissed and had sex it felt like two were becoming one, as cheesy as that sounded. It was the only time in Heather’s life she was really happy and confident in a relationship.</p><p>Katie was great. Heather thought they’d be together forever. And then on graduation day-- while she was in the midst of apartment hunting for them-- she met Katie’s parents… and her fiance Paul. To Heather’s surprise Paul and her had been on and off together all the years they were together. Every trip back home during break, every stray phone call-- all that time it had been Paul. They had grown up next door to each other and she always knew it was inevitable they’d get married.</p><p>Heather smiled, congratulated them and promptly moved into the apartment she had found for them herself alone. She hadn’t spoken to Katie since. They’d never fought about it, never had it out. She got an invitation to the wedding in the mail but she threw it out without even politely declining.</p><p>At first Heather focused on her work-- she built herself up as the premiere entertainment publicist at her firm and had all the trappings of success that came with by the time she was 28: nice car, killer apartment… new sexy bed companion whenever she wanted. After Katie she didn’t want to “date” or bring feelings into any of her relationships. Her night with this model curled up next to her ready to beg her for one more round? That’s what she wanted. It was simple, uncomplicated.</p><p>They were in bed kissing and about to start getting down to business when she heard her phone ring. She stopped, debating if she should pick it up. “Don’t stop,” the girl begged. “Let the machine get it.” She smiled back down at the pleading girl and resumed. She heard the click of the answering machine.</p><p>
  <em> This is Heather Duke. Please leave a message after the beep. </em>
</p><p>“Hey Heather, guess who it is? Heather! McNamara!” She laughed. “Sorry, this is actually serious. I tracked down your number from your real estate agent. You’re a hard one to pin down. Please call me back ASAP, okay? My number is 555 3212.” She hung up the phone.</p><p>Heather closed her eyes, sighed, and leaned back on her haunches all desire to fuck this girl suddenly gone as her high school life came back to her in a crashing wave.</p><p>“What is it?” Miss August asked. “What’s wrong? Was that an ex or something?”<br/>
<br/>
“Or something,” she muttered. She looked down and saw the girl splayed in front of her still begging for it. “Oh darling,” she fiddled with one of her blond curls. “I'm so sorry. I’d love to spend the whole day playing with you but I’ve got things to do. What do you say to a rain check?” The girl pouted and looked disappointed but she knew when it was time to go.</p><p>“Oh, um, okay. If you- sure, yeah.” Heather was stunned by the hurt in her voice. She knew this was a fly by night thing, right? </p><p>“Hey, hey. Last night was terrific. I’ll never forget it,” she said, trying to allay the girl's feelings by stroking her cheek tenderly. They got out of bed and the girl hunted for her clothes from last night, getting dressed. In the harsh light of day the sparkly halter top and leather pants looked out of place.</p><p>“Well, good. I really would like to do it again,” she asked hopefully. “Maybe dinner or a movie or something? Get to know each other a bit better?” Heather didn’t answer her. She merely got dressed herself and sent her along her way.</p><p>When her cab arrived she closed her door and sighed. “Hey Heather, drop me a line, okay? I really did have a good time last night.” She bit her lip and confessed. "One of the best ones in a long time, honestly. You're really comfortable to be around," the girl said before handing Heather her card. <em> Lisbeth Kendall. Model/Actress</em>. On it was her number and her agent’s information. She smiled and pocketed it. <em> Lisbeth. Her name had been Lisbeth. </em> </p><p>She wouldn’t call her though and waved goodbye. Instead she stared at her phone and listened to the message again, writing down Heather’s number. Ten years. It had been ten years since she’d seen any of them… and ten years since their fearless leader Heather Chandler had killed herself. She groaned. <em> What the hell does Heather McNamara want to do? Memorialize the Queen Bitch of their youth? </em></p><p>Ten years. Has it really been ten years? She picked up the phone and dialed the number someone picked up. “Hello? Heather?” An old familiar voice intoned.</p><p>“Oh my god, Heather it’s so good to hear from you!” After some pleasantries she told her the nature of her want to reunite for a memorial. “It’s just… it’s been so long since all of us have been together I really just thought it'd be a good idea."</p><p>"Um, look, Heather I really have a full plate of work to do here."</p><p>"Please come? I really miss the old gang. I've got Veronica on board."</p><p>"Veronica? Sawyer? How is she doing?" A twinge hit her. She and Veronica had been tentative actual friends before the whole suicide nightmare struck and she could admit the things she did after Chandler's death put a permanent wedge between them. It was regrettable. Last thing she remembered was that she had a kid and was bagging groceries.</p><p>"Oh fantastic. She's a guidance counselor at Westerberg if you can believe it. And that little girl of hers? Super cute." <em>Who had been the father of that kid, anyway? </em>Duke tried to recall. <em>It wasn't that psycho that blew himself up was it?  </em>She could always ask, but she didn't.</p><p>"Good for her, glad she's doing well," she said, meaning it. G<em>ood for Veronica. No really.</em> </p><p>"Come on Heather, come back. It'd be very." Duke laughed. She hadn't heard anyone talk like that in forever.</p><p>"I'll think about it, okay? See what's up with work." It was a lie, she knew she'd never end up going.</p><p>"Let me know as soon as you can. I'm also desperate for you to meet my fiancee. After all, I'm gonna need a bridesmaid!" Duke groaned inwardly. <em>No, no, if you were really my friend you'd never torture me with bridesmaid status.</em></p><p>"Awesome," she lied. "I'll let you know soon. Take care Heather."</p><p>"You too Heather." She put the phone call behind her for a spell and spent the rest of the day responding to work emails and eventually got dressed and went to get some groceries and do other errands. At the store she was going through the magazines and saw in the upper racks the back issues of Playboy. As luck would have it they still had the August issue. She paid for her groceries and the teenage boy at the register gave her a funny look for buying a Playboy. “What?” Heather asked him, challenging him. “I read it for the articles.” She handed him her credit card and he swiped it. “Oh, and the naked girls.” She took the bags and left the store, leaving the boy dumbfounded.</p><p>As she laid in bed that night she flipped open to the spread of Lisbeth. It was strange to see her like that when she had just been with her the night before. Especially when she’d seen her naked in real life. The photo was airbrushed and her answers to the profile canned. It was so… artificial. It was strange how little the spread captured the girl’s personality or beauty. She put it down and closed her eyes. A few minutes later and opened them. Sitting on the edge of her bed was Heather Chandler in her red kimono with a hint of blue on her lips-- just as she last saw her. “This is a dream,” Chandler told her. She had the Playboy in her hands and was analyzing Lisbeth’s centerfold. She felt oddly protective of the girl and disliked Chandler’s dream gaze on her.</p><p>“Well, duh. You're dead. Drank some Drain-O and said goodbye to this sick sad world.” Chandler shrugged. “What do you want?” Duke said, wanting to scratch her old crush/nemesis's eyes out. She was evaluating the centerfold. </p><p>“Seriously Heather, this girl?” She nodded approvingly. “I’m surprised. She’s a solid ten and you're a reaching seven.” Duke started to grate her teeth and reminded herself this was a dream and not real. “But I’m not here to rate your bed mates. Especially the double digit numbers they reach. Also, really? Another girl with blond curls? Wow. I guess you have a type.” She chuckled cruelly. Duke suddenly felt seventeen years old, and the familiar urge to vomit her large dinner hit her for the first time in nearly six years. That greatly troubled her. One memory of Heather Chandler could undue ten years of real progress.</p><p>“Why are you here?” She asked the ghost of her teenage melodrama.</p><p>“Dear God, please kill Heather Chandler for me?” Heather Chandler barked back at her chillingly. Cold fear rushed through Duke’s whole body.</p><p>“I didn't kill you Heather.”</p><p>“But you were going to, weren’t you?” She was.</p><p>“But you-” Duke said defensively.</p><p>“You were about to give me rat poisoning. You were going to smile and watch me choke on the poison. Just because the deed was done before you got there doesn't mean diddly.” Chandler crawled over her body and caged her between her arms. “All because I rejected you.” She felt trapped on her own bed, years of fear and guilt catching up to her.</p><p>“No- you led me on then you said you were going to tell everyone that I was- that I was gay. God, Heather it was small town Ohio in 1989, I don’t even know what could have happened to me! My parents barely accept it now!” She had finally come out three years ago to them. They didn’t disown her but they never spoke of it if they could. She hated it, but it was what it was and it wasn't like she was bringing a girlfriend over anytime soon.</p><p>“Excuses, excuses,” she whispered as she lowered her body on hers. Chandler touched her face gently before kissing her. Duke knew she should be revolted at the thought of it at this point in her life but… she wasn’t. She wrapped her arms around Chandler, suddenly wanting more. She reached in between them to the rope on her robe, about to tug it off when Chandler broke the kiss. She smiled at her tenderly before twisting her lips into the cruel smirk she remembered so fondly. “Wow, all this time and you still want to fuck me? You’re such a loser Heather.” She began to laugh, as she held her wrists down and Duke started thrashing against her tight hold.</p><p>She woke in a cold sweat, her nightgown sticking to her sweaty body. She calmed her heart rate and reached for her glass of water, gulping it down. <em> It was a dream. Just a dream. </em></p><p>She stared at her alarm clock, running her hands over her face. It was only 5, but she wasn’t going back to sleep. She went to her computer and booted it up and went online to her email. She typed one up and fired it off to her assistant asking her to book a flight to Ohio for her ASAP.</p><p>That dream made it clear. She needed one last trip home to put the ghost of Heather Chandler at bed for the final time. She didn't think Mac’s stupid memorial could do it… but maybe seeing her and Veronica could. She knew after that nightmare she would never be free of her old demon unless she faced it head on.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Meanwhile In the boiler room of Westerberg... </em>
</p><p>Azazel stood in a corner of the room whispering to the shadows. JD couldn't see what was happening, he was too preoccupied with escape.</p><p>"That dream was lovely m'dear. Really." He was referring to her Oscar caliber performance as Heather Chandler to Heather Duke.</p><p>"Thank you, I try." The blond morphed from the seventeen year old version of Heather Chandler to the late thirty-something version. "She'll be back soon enough to finish what you started with her." His assistant, Ekoc Tied, was particularly fond of the form of this girl Heather Chandler. She liked using her form to fuck with the minds of others.</p><p>"I promise you Zazy, I'll get you out of here and back in his body soon." She turned and saw JD, confused and pacing on the other side of the room. She touched his cheek tenderly. "Your true love isn't far from here. Just in her office upstairs. We'll get her back to you too." She leaned in and hugged him tenderly. "There's so much that's happened since you've been gone to tell you. I tried to watch over her but not interfere just like you wanted."</p><p>"Thank you my tenderness, you're like the daughter I never had." Ekoc smiled, knowing something he didn't but kept it close to her chest, waiting for the right time to tell him about the little girl.</p><p>JD ignored them knowing he had to get out of this room and venture up the stairs. He was still unable to interact with the world around him but he wasn’t through trying. He had to get out of where he was, away from whatever this thing down there was. There was so much to process. Ten whole years had passed and only images and snatches of this life he had lived in this other dimension were coming back to him. Fire, survival… an intense loneliness from being away from the one person that seemed to care about him in his own world. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about her. He had no idea where Veronica could be and even if he could… she wouldn't want anything to do with him, that was for sure. She was right, he had been a psycho and had gone too far. But he didn’t want to? It was all too confusing and he needed to get out of the boiling room and figure out how to become fully corporeal so he could rebuild his mind properly. He also wanted a cheeseburger and fries. Badly.</p><p>He spotted the young girl with the cigarette at the top of the stairs. <em>That’s right</em>, he remembered. <em>Kids used to come down here to smoke</em>. That’s how he discovered the entry way back in his time. “Hey! Hey! Please can you hear me? Please…” He begged. She ignored him. “Shit, you can’t see me, can you?” He sat down, defeated. “I just. I need help.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. The girl was staring at the floor as she smoked. She wore a holey sweater that was too long in the sleeve for her and jean shorts over a pair of black tights with holes. Her hair was bleach blond with obvious brown roots.</p><p>The door opened suddenly and he saw a teenage boy with bright fake red hair in spikes and lots of chains. “Hey, Millie, quickly put it out before you get caught. Mr. Lippencott’s roaming the halls.”</p><p>“Shit,” she said, dejected as she stamped it out. “I'm already in enough trouble.” JD watched the scene unfold as the two teenagers looked out for teachers in the halls. “I’ve got an appointment with Ms. Sawyer next period anyway.”</p><p>“Sawyer?” JD said out loud to himself. “Veronica Sawyer?” <em> It couldn’t be. It’s been… </em> the weight of time crushed down on him. <em> It’s been ten years. </em></p><p>The boy closed the door and left. The teenage girl-- Millie-- sighed and turned to him and stared right at him. “Please don’t follow me or talk to me anymore,” she whispered to JD. “This is my fourth school in two years. I’m already in enough trouble here.” He blinked, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.</p><p>“You can see me?” She quickly exited the boiler room and without thinking he started to follow her. He felt vertigo being back in the halls of Westerberg but he couldn't let this girl out of his sight. “Please, you have to help me. Please. You know Veronica?”</p><p>JD followed her all the way to the guidance office. <em> A Ms. Fleming used to be in here, </em> he remembered. <em>Burnout terminally trapped in the 60s.</em> He followed the girl in, dazed. A woman in a tight clingy blue mini skirt and pantyhose and heels was at a filing cabinet bent over. He couldn’t believe the urge inside of him to stare at her still pulled at him. That was no aging hippy. “Nice ass,” he said, accidentally out loud startling the young girl-- Millie.</p><p>“Ew, gross,” the girl said to him. “She’s a teacher.”</p><p>"Didn't have any like that when I went here." The woman at the filing cabinet straightened up and turned.</p><p>“What was that Millie?” The woman asked. JD stumbled back and nearly fell. Veronica. Veronica Sawyer stood in front of him. She was older, but still the same hair and face. It was the first time he’d seen her in ten years. <em> She was okay. He died for her-- sorta-- and she was okay. </em> Tears of joy pricked his eyes. <em>Veronica...</em></p><p>"Nothing, Ms. Sawyer. Why'd I get called in?" They began their meeting.</p><p>“Please, I know her. Please. Tell her it’s JD. Tell her she needs to help me. Please." He was frantic. "Ask her if she’s okay, if she’s… not too damaged from what I did." Guilt was washing over him as memories of them fighting over a gun splashed in front of his eyes. "Please.” He begged. The girl wasn’t budging. "Why did you say anything to me at all if you were just going to ignore me?!" He hollered. "I'm sorry. It's Millie? Right? I'm sorry but please... it's Veronica." She still wouldn't talk to him. </p><p>In frustration he stamped his foot and paced back and forth, barely listening to their conversation. He turned and stared at her, desperate to make contact with her. He knew he had to keep trying. He ran back up to the girls side and crouched next to her, whispering carefully into it. “Look, I don’t understand either and I get that this is weird but, tell her it’s JD. Tell her… tell her ‘our love is God.’”</p><p>“Our love is God?” Millie said by accident out loud. “What does that even mean?”</p><p>“What the hell did you just say?” Veronica stopped dead in her tracks as her entire body prickled in fear and goosebumps. She had forgotten suddenly that she was the adult in a room with a student. "Who the fuck told you that?"</p><p>Millie clenched up in fear, realizing what was about to happen. Another school to get kicked out of. <em>Fuck this guy won't leave me alone. </em>"He said his name's JD and he needs your help. He told me to tell you, 'our love is God.'"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welp, things are moving along!  </p><p>Kudos and comments are very welcome. This is an ambitious story on my part and I would love to hear how it's going (though not begging for comments, obvs-- no one's required to).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Heat's On All Right</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which young Mom Veronica has a bad day day but meets a nice young man. We also meet Millie Walker.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Whew, is this long. As I said, I update this one less "frequently" but I try to give you longer chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Ohio, 1993</b>
</p><p>Veronica was exhausted. She had worked until midnight last night-- even though her manager at the A&amp;P told her explicitly that she would never work past eight when she hired her-- and had just come from her Post-War US History final knowing damn well she did piss poor on it. She had no idea how a person could walk into a class with a complete understanding of the Cuban Missile Crisis and walk out with it but in the two hours allotted for the comprehensive test she had none. She kept going over her essay answers in her head, sure she bungled up her test argument and groaning over the key points she forgot. </p><p>Theo was strapped into the booster seat in the passenger side of the car crying about… life, she guessed. To be more specific, she hated the strap on the car seat but she had to wear it when they drove because the other way wasn’t safe or legal.</p><p>“Come on chickadee, we’ll be home soon, okay?” She reached over to try and tickle her stomach to calm her but it didn’t work. It was a forty minute drive back to her parent’s house from school. Luckily she had the day off from work but in exchange for switching shifts so she could take her final and pick Theo up without worry was taking the opening shift tomorrow-- which meant waking up at 5 AM. Luckily her mother didn’t work Saturday’s and could watch Theo. They helped. A lot. But they had lives and Veronica hated asking them to do what she should be doing, even if they repeatedly told her they didn’t mind. She knew they were telling her the truth-- they worshiped their granddaughter the moment she’d plopped the tiny baby in their eager arms-- but her mom already raised her baby and this was Veronica’s responsibility. <em> You choose this, </em> she reminded herself. <em> You chose this and this was living with that choice. </em></p><p>This day was mostly just a particularly bad day. Theo had soiled herself earlier in the day at the student daycare center and she had used up her last clean pair of clothes she had changing her. The dirty ones were in a bag in the back waiting to go on the giant mountain of laundry Veronica hadn’t been able to get to in over a week that glared at her like a monument to her failure as a mother. </p><p>Veronica was also still fuming over the exchange she’d had with the woman in charge-- who looked like a villain in a Roald Dahl novel-- about the incident. “We have told you explicitly that the requirement for this daycare-- which is provided without additional cost to you as a student may I remind you-- requires a child of three to be fully potty trained. Look, you’re very young,” she told her condescendingly. “I know how hard it can be with classes, work, and a toddler but maybe you should consider lightening your school load so you can properly take care of her. She has these accidents often and these sort of accidents should be at a minimum by this age. Usually these sort of regressive habits are often brought on by stress at home. Doctor Spock advises--” <em>Dr. Spock also said that you're a failure as a mother if you didn't breast feed and that dad's should participate but no go crazy changing the diapers too. Doctor Spock can shut his mouth. </em></p><p>“I’ll see what I can do,” Veronica responded tersely knowing that pissing this woman off with what she really wanted to say would likely not help her daughter staying in the daycare facility. And she needed it. It was free and it was the only place Theo had to be around and play with other kids her age when she was on campus.</p><p>It fumed her what the woman had said. Like she hadn’t spied middle aged new parents screwing stuff up with their kids too. Age had nothing to do with it. Veronica couldn’t-- refused-- to take less than four classes a semester and three in the summer. She was desperate to finish undergrad so she could get out of the grocery store and one day get her and Theo into their own place. The money JD’s dad sent her helped keep her out of the poor house and only working part time. It was good for things like food and doctor’s visits but she wanted to stand on her own two feet as well and she wanted them to have their own home soon.</p><p>He had been right, when there’s kids there’s never enough money. You always want more for them.</p><p>Veronica took her daughter and left without saying anything more to the Trunchbull. They hadn’t cleaned her up and she was furious as to how long she’d been in the soiled clothes. Quickly she went to the ladies room at the school to change her and clean her with the supplies in her mom bag slash school bag. As she was doing that two girls her own age came in laughing. They walked over to the mirror to fix their makeup. </p><p>They noticed her and Theo-- who was clapping and singing, <em>“Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination,</em>” quietly to herself much to her mild annoyance at the daycare center for pushing Barney on the kids-- awkwardly, but returned to their conversation about the party they’d been at last night. </p><p>Flashes of her seventeen year old self flitted through her mind as she listened in on them. Had she been just like them? Fixing her clothes and makeup in the girls room with the Heathers having just as silly and fun of conversations? She turned back to her daughter-- the one she loved beyond anything still singing that awful Barney song-- and couldn’t help but wonder if in a different set of circumstances she could have been just like them at twenty-one.</p><p>“So we’re going to the Smashing Pumpkins show next week, right?” The girl asked, finishing up her makeup and moving on to adjusting her top to show off her cleavage in the most flattering manner.</p><p>“Yeah, Jordan got us tickets through his radio hook up.”</p><p>“Oh my god, he’s so into you. I totally caught him checking you out at the club last night.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s nice and I love how easily he gets tickets but he’s not really as hot as Leo. God, Leo’s so gorgeous and a fantastic lay.”</p><p>“Oh my god, I know. And you told me his dick is so-” She cut herself off remembering there was a toddler in the room with her. Granted, that toddler was still high on the crack that was Barney so she barely noticed. “Sorry,” she told Veronica as her friend nudged her and pointed to the little one. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Veronica said with a laugh. She actually wanted to know just how big Leo and Jordan were even if she had never met them. “She doesn't understand any of that stuff yet. And I was on the edge of my seat wondering about the quality of lay Leo was in proportion to his dick.” The girls laughed as she finished putting the new dress on Theo after sliding her last pull up on her from her giant mom bag. Veronica couldn’t wait until the whole toilet training stage was done.</p><p>“Aw, how cute,” the girl cooed as Veronica hopped Theo down to the ground and she stood up. “I love that little dress she has on.” It had been the Gap Kids yellow sundress with lady bugs marching that Heather Mac had given her when she visited a couple of weeks ago. It was nice of her. It was also nicer-- and more expensive-- than anything Veronica currently wore. “I’d totally wear that in my size!” Veronica smiled, admiring the nice, fun, and youthful clothes on them too. </p><p>“Thanks,” Veronica said at the compliment to Theo, trying to smile at two girls that she could have been friends with under different circumstances. She turned to the mirror only to realize that she was in sweatpants and a worn Tweety Bird t-shirt. She had barely had time to pull a comb through her hair that day-- let alone wash it-- and it was messily clipped away from her face. The two girls were wearing leather jackets, slip dresses, and boots with their hair perfectly coiffed and makeup freshly reapplied. Veronica hated her reflection. She used to love clothes and making sure she looked hot ever since she learned she could look that way if she tried. She knew her boots, mini-skirts, and halters were still somewhere in her closet gathering dust. She wondered if she’d lost enough of the baby weight yet to fit back into some of them. </p><p>“What’s her name?” The girl cooed, trying to make funny faces at Theo. “About three, right? My nephew’s about that age.” She was a bit shy around strangers though and even though she laughed she hid her face behind Veronica’s legs.</p><p>“Theodora. She’ll be three in June. We call her Theo mostly.” The girls smiled. “Stop being so shy and say hi,” she cajoled her daughter. “Come on, wave Theo, wave,” she prompted her. Theo lifted her small hand and waved before slipping her thumb in her mouth. They laughed and waved back.</p><p>“Oh my God, I love that name. So old-timey and different. She’s super adorable,” the girl said. Something clicked in her brain. “Oh! Wait! We have Post-War US History together, right?” Veronica nodded, she thought she’d known the girl. “That final! Oh my god, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” She picked Theo up and rested her on the sink to pull a comb through her hair trying to make sure she didn’t look like a complete hot mess. “I think I failed.”</p><p>“Ugh, yeah. Me too. Everyone does,” she said, assuring her. “Some of us want to complain to the department. It came out of nowhere. Ugh, I wish I had dropped it in time.” Veronica longed for her luxury of taking her time with school. She couldn’t drop classes, not if she wanted to graduate at a reasonable time. “I had no idea that Professor would be so intense. Or that there would even be a sit down written final! Usually third tier history classes are just a paper, you know?” Veronica did.</p><p>“Whatever,” the other girl said. “Didn’t you say the graduate TA was a major hottie?” She had pulled out her pack of cigarettes and started tapping them on her hands.</p><p>“Oh my god, he was! Timothy… something. Dreamiest eyes, I swear.” They giggled.</p><p>“Green,” Veronica had supplied. “Tim Green. He was really smart and seemed nice too.” Veronica may have mom, work, and school brain rot but she was not dead inside. He was very handsome with sandy blond hair and a friendly smile. She’d checked him out on a number of occasions. The other girl checked her watch.</p><p>“Jenny, we better motor if we want to make it to happy hour before it’s cut off. The boys are waiting on us.” Jenny nodded, pulling her purse in order.</p><p>“Yeah, totally. It was nice talking to you…?”</p><p>“Veronica,” Veronica supplied.</p><p>“Bye Veronica! Bye Theo!” She cooed, smiling at her. “Oh, and-- like, for real, I really admire when older girls like you go back to school and stuff. It must be hard. Don’t worry though, you always had smart answers in class, I’m sure you didn’t fail as bad as you think.” </p><p>“Thanks,” Veronica said bleakly. She wanted to tell her they were the same age but opted against it. A secret desire deep within her wished she were tagging along with them ready for a night out with concerts and boys in the future. Theo motioned to be picked up and Veronica thoughtlessly did. She squealed and squirmed in her arms reminding her that she was most definitely not doing that tonight. Immediately after those thoughts followed the inevitable guilt at even vaguely wishing that. <em> You made a choice Veronica Sawyer. This is living with that choice. </em></p><p>“Sh…” She kissed Theo’s head “Come on chickadee, we’re going home.”</p><p>Back in the car Theo’s wailing was giving her a headache, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Much to her disdain she turned the rock radio station-- which had been playing Pearl Jam-- and turned the tape deck on to a “Kid’s Bop” compilation. It had no effect other than intensifying the headache she already had. The quicker she got home, the quicker she’d stop wailing she realized. </p><p>It was the awful car seat her Aunt had given her second hand from when her cousin used it a few years ago. A lot of her baby paraphernalia was from them. Her forty-something Aunt and Uncle had a kid only a few years older than hers and the vertigo of ages freaked her out. Her first cousin and her daughter were contemporaries, not her and her cousin which stunned her. </p><p>It was just then when she heard the large pop from her car and the telltale flapping noise of a flat tire. “Shit!” She yelled. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” She pulled the car over and turned the engine off. She slapped the wheel in frustration. “Shit!” She screamed one more time. </p><p>Theo’s wailing was now intense as it responded to Veronica’s own frustration and she turned her attention back to her daughter as the tears of frustration and anger started to fall down Veronica’s own cheeks. She opened her door and went around to open the passenger side. She reached over and unclicked her from the seat and pulled her out. She held her and bounced her up and down to try and comfort her but both their tears were now coming freely down. “Please, chickadee, please calm down,” she cried. “I know. I know it all sucks. Really sucks.”</p><p>Not that she blamed her daughter. She too would love for nothing else for the situation than to scream and cry. Veronica had no idea what to do. Her dad had shown her how to change a tire once but she was no expert and with the screaming toddler in her arms she knew it would be a frustrating task. </p><p>“Hey, you okay?” A charming voice asked as a small red Volvo pulled up next to her. Veronica started and her hackles momentarily rose. It was broad daylight and on a well patrolled highway but she was raised in the post-Bundy era and had heard enough horror stories of young women killed by random handsome motorists on the side of the road to worry, especially with a small child in her arms. A small child who still hadn’t calmed down. “Need some help?” She stared at him, not quite seeing his face. He must have noticed her fear and got out. </p><p>Timothy Green, TA from her Post-War American History class was on the side of the road with her asking if she needed help with her car. “Not a killer! I swear. Although, I doubt a serial killer would say that they were,” he laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, we go to state together. I recognized your parking permit on the back of your car from school.” Veronica blinked at him, her tears drying up. This was like something out of a romcom. This couldn’t be real. She was having the worst day with a frustrating schedule, crying toddler, and feeling lousy about herself and out of nowhere a handsome, smart, and charming TA was asking her if she needed help. “Wait, I know you. You’re in Professor Williams’s post-war class I TA'd for, right?” Veronica nodded, suddenly forgetting how to speak.</p><p>“Yes,” she replied, realizing she was acting non-verbal. “Veronica, um, Sawyer.” Theo was still screaming and she kept bouncing her and shushing her. “Sorry, it’s not you. She just hates that car seat and it’s hard to get her to stop and-” He just smiled.</p><p>“Do you mind if I try?” He asked, holding his arms out for Theo.</p><p>“Um, huh?” Veronica said, confused.</p><p>“I used to work as a nanny and babysitter and stuff during undergrad for the money. I’m pretty good with kids. And you look like you really need a break.” Veronica blinked at him trying to figure out if he was a mirage.</p><p>“Um, okay,” she said, handing her first born to his arms. She knew she should be hesitant and freaked about a stranger holding her daughter but he wasn’t a total stranger. He was the handsome TA from her class she’d been ogling for the last fifteen weeks. She was also desperate for her baby to calm down so she could think and anything that worked she’d welcome.</p><p>“What’s all this fuss about?” He asked her in a light tone as he bounced her. It wasn’t the baby talk a lot of people she knew without kids talked to Theo in, but a practiced one. He hadn’t been kidding, he was pretty good with kids. Theo hushed up and was calm in seconds as he lifted her up and down. “I know, car seats are the worst,” he agreed. Veronica nearly broke right then and there.</p><p>“Jeez, thank you. I was losing my mind.” He shrugged, brushing it off.</p><p>“Sometimes it's just a different person. Don’t be offended by it. Something up with your car?” He asked.</p><p>“Yeah, I think I blew a tire…” she gestured to her flat.</p><p>“You have a spare?” He asked. She popped her trunk showing him.</p><p>“Yeah. My dad showed me once but I can’t say I’m great at doing it.” He handed her daughter back to her. Theo cooed and squealed, happy. She was grateful. And surprised. She was usually so bad with strangers.</p><p>“Give me a minute. I can have you back up in a few minutes, okay?” She was stunned. It had been so long since she’d gotten a break she’d forgotten how kind people could be.</p><p>“God, thank you so much. I’m so grateful.” He laughed.</p><p>“Of course. After that awful final that jerk gave you, you deserve a break.” He smiled and winked at her sweetly and got to work changing the tire. Was he… flirting with her? Veronica started, almost having forgotten what being flirted with felt like. A smile crept onto her face: a handsome grad student was flirting with her. That was something that was supposed to happen to her. That would have happened to the old Veronica most definitely. </p><p>“Jerk?” Veronica said, trying to match his tone but also shocked to hear him call Professor Williams that. He was, but she was still surprised to hear him say it.</p><p>“He’s my thesis advisor and he’s brilliant but he’s a jerk. No bedside manner. He calls me stupid just as often as he calls you guys it, and I think he likes me.” Veronica laughed.</p><p>“I totally failed. I know it.” He laughed again and continued.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you did great, you are seriously the only one in that class I wouldn’t worry about failing. Also, you think a big shot like him grades those tests? Please. I grade the tests.” He turned to her and winked. “Don’t worry, you got an in.” She laughed as she put Theo down, and let her stretch her legs. She kept her hand in hers though, as she bounced up and down perfectly aware of the highway she’d gladly wander onto if she could.</p><p>As he finished up he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Voila!” He chimed, with a smile.</p><p>“Thank you so much, really.”</p><p>“So, what’s up? You babysit one of the professor’s kid’s for extra money? On your way back to their house or something? I know a bunch of students who do that.” Veronica blinked, suddenly reminded just again of her status as a young mom, not a normal 21 year old coed. <em> But it had felt so good to flirt and feel like a 21 year old. </em></p><p>“No,” she told him. “We’re on our way home. This is my daughter. Theo.”</p><p>“Oh!” He said, blinking surprised. “I didn’t realize. I’m just surprised. You’re one of the smart ones in class and you don’t look or act like you would be a-” He caught himself realizing what a dick assumption he made.</p><p>“Yeah, well, smart girls can have babies too,” she told him, tersely. In that one instant she stopped being the regular girl flirting with a grad student and turned back into the frazzled young mom and student working part-time ringing up groceries she really was and was being treated like it.</p><p>“I’m sorry, that was… not a good thing to say.” He looked dejected, realizing how after winning major points with the pretty girl for fixing the car and calming the toddler down he screwed it up with one snap judgement.</p><p>“Anyway, thank you again. We better get going. Seriously, thank you.” Veronica turned to go to her car and lifted Theo up to strap her back in.</p><p>“Wait, please. Let me make it up to you.” She turned and wiped her hair from her face. </p><p><em> He’s nice. </em> In that one moment the only thing she could think was: <em> What’s it like to be with someone nice? What’s it like to not be alone with all of this?  </em> “I do trivia at this bar near campus on Sunday nights. Are you free?” <em> Date. He just asked me out on a date. I haven’t been asked out on a date since… </em> She looked down at Theo wishing a three year old could give romantic advice. She mentally rolled through her calendar. <em> Sundays, Sundays… morning shift and no school. Monday’s are your day off so no need to worry about sleeping late… </em> He was asking her out, right? She made a split decision.</p><p>“I’ll check if my mom can babysit but, yeah. I’d like that.” Veronica smiled at him, willing to take a chance as she gave him her phone number and directions to her house to pick her up.</p><p>A few days later she was in her room and Theo was on her bed playing with her toy blocks that go in different shaped holes. She had torn her whole closet apart trying to figure out what to wear to this trivia night date Timothy had invited her on. Her mother gladly agreed to babysit for such a momentous occasion as her daughter’s first date in nearly four years and Veronica was suddenly very acutely aware of how woefully out of practice she was at the whole thing. Getting nicely done up was something she used to be great at.</p><p>“Blue lace top with black mini or black lace top with blue mini?” She asked her daughter holding up the different outfits, unable to choose, hoping she still fit into them. "Or a dress? Dates usually mean dresses, right?" Her daughter stared at her blankly. She booped her nose playfully and she laughed in response. “You’re useless,” she teased.</p><p>“Blue was always your best color,” her mom told her as she walked in. “Wear the blue top with the black bottom with those high boots of yours. It's nice for a date, but not too nice as you're going to a sports bar. Do you need black stockings? I picked up a L’Egg for you.” She tossed her the hose. Veronica blinked, surprised.</p><p>“Thanks Mom.” She slipped them on and got dressed. The outfit just fit, but it was definitely snug. “This is too tight, isn’t it?” She moaned.</p><p>“You’re 21, remember? It should be too tight.” Her mom came up behind her and started helping her do her hair. “I’m really glad you’re going on a date, honey.”</p><p>“Thank you for watching her.”</p><p>“Theo and I are great Jeopardy partners, you know that. She’s very smart, aren’t you dear? All the right answers?” She got the square shaped one in the square hole. Veronica smiled. “See! The smartest! Besides, I keep telling you it’s not a sin to let me help you. You aren’t the worst mom in the world for it. We’re family, it’s not a crime to let family help you out.” Veronica smiled as she let her mom twist her hair up and pin it for her. </p><p>“Thanks mom. You know I love you. I sometimes can’t believe how great you guys have been.” Her mom gripped her shoulders in love.</p><p>“What were we going to do? Throw you out? Cast you out like some trashy Kathleen Woodiweis novel? Come on, you’re our daughter. We love you. And it doesn’t hurt that Theo is pretty much the best granddaughter I could have asked for.” In response Theo squealed in delight as she realized they were talking about her greatness. Her mother returned to Veronica’s reflection. “Here, carefully let the sides fall in front. That’s how I see all the girls in the magazines do it now.” Her mother carefully framed her face with the hair after pinning it up.</p><p>“I know you like to help but I chose this. I chose her. You didn’t force me to have her. Thereby it’s my responsibility.” She smiled at Theo who was now going through the pile of discarded clothes on the bed flinging them back and forth like a ribbon dance. Her mom and her laughed.</p><p>“You chose to be a mom, sweetie. Not a lonely martyr. You take responsibility for her, you go to school and still manage a 3.7 GPA, and work. You don’t have to sacrifice everything in your life.” She handed her the lipgloss. “So... Is he cute?”</p><p>“He is,” she said tentatively. “He was the TA in my post-war history class. Sandy hair, nice smile. He’s gonna get a PhD.” Her mother’s face lit up.</p><p>“A doctor! You’re bringing home a future doctor!” They laughed. “More importantly, the arms? You always liked arms,” she teased. Veronica stared at her mother, shocked. “Oh stop it. I wasn’t deaf when you girls would talk about boys when you were younger.” </p><p>“Mom!” They laughed. <em> JD had great arms. </em> She coughed and focused on her makeup unsure where that had come from. <em> Especially when he wrapped them around me from behind. They were long and strong... safe. </em> She blinked her eyes, pushing it away. <em> He’s dead. He wasn't safe, </em>  she told the memories. <em> Go away. </em> </p><p>“This is good. Very good. A nice young man to take you out.” She sat on the bed and Theo crawled up to sit on her grandma’s lap. Eagerly her mother took her. “Can I let you in on a secret Veronica about motherhood? This will pass-- the stressful constant care part.” Veronica sighed and looked over at Theo in her mother’s arms. She flashed her those dark eyes that looked identical to her father’s. “Before you know it you’ll finish school, get a proper stable job and Theo will learn to be self sufficient and in school. Before you even blink she’ll be eighteen and out of the house and not need you all the time. You’ll only be 36 years old.” A pit of truth formed in Veronica’s statement. She didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her life-- really she didn’t. “That’s still very young. Too young to be alone, honey. I don’t mean to tell you to go nuts finding a husband, or even that you need to get one. But seeing a few men?  Maybe having another boyfriend? It’ll be good for you. You need more than just work, school, and taking care of her. I just worry you’ll be lonely.”</p><p>“Oh Mom…” She told her, suddenly realizing she might be right. She looked at herself in the mirror almost startled. She looked really hot. She hadn’t seen old Veronica in a long time.</p><p>“Theo can’t be the only person in your life. That’s all I’m saying.”</p><p>Tim rang the doorbell exactly on time. Her father answered it and he walked in. “Hi, come on in,” her father told him. “I’m her father, Bill Sawyer. You must be Timothy.”</p><p>“Hi, yes. Nice to meet you. Timothy Green.” Tim was a bit nervous. It had been a few years since he picked a girl up for a date and her father had answered the door. But he understood her living arrangement to be a bit different than most of the other attendees of his school. He was also raised very polite. So they shook hands and Mr. Sawyer immediately liked him. </p><p>For one thing he introduced himself to him personally as a date to his daughter unlike the last one that randomly showed up at his house and misrepresented himself. He glanced out the window and saw a nice safe Volvo and not a motorcycle as well. He was also wearing a clean button down shirt and jeans with a brown short coat. He hadn’t known very much about the young man who got his teenage daughter pregnant, and while he felt pity for what must have been mental health issues that met a tragic ending, he couldn’t help but realize this new one was vastly preferable. Yes, Mr. Sawyer realized. He liked this one a lot more.</p><p>“Hey,” Veronica said, coming down the stairs to greet Timothy. “Hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place.” He blinked a few times. She was in a mini skirt and boots as opposed to the sweatpants and old t-shirts he usually saw her in at school. It was a categorical change to say the least. He liked her because she was one of the only students in that class with really insightful answers but now he was seeing a completely different girl. A really hot one that was also really smart. He wasn't opposed to that, that's for sure.</p><p>“Uh, no. I mean, I’ve never driven into Sherwood before, but it wasn’t that hard to find. Nice little town here.” Veronica smiled and grabbed her coat. <em> So this is what a proper date is like. </em>She wished she had a cool leather one like the girls she saw in the bathroom the other day but she settled for her old jean jacket. Catching a peep in the mirror just reiterated her realization that just because she was a mom didn’t mean she had to dress like one all the time. Her mother was right next to her holding Theo.</p><p>“All right, you be good for Grandma and Grandpa, okay chickadee?” She leaned in and kissed her daughter. </p><p>“Say bye to mommy, cookie,” her mother told Theo.</p><p>“Bye mommy,” Theo said softly as they left. About forty minutes later she found herself in a sports bar not far from campus with a beer in front of her and a handsome date.</p><p>“So, first date,” he said. “First drink together. We’re about to share some cheese fries, get burgers, possibly a little drunk, and play trivia. I have to ask the one question that I might get into trouble first with. That way we don’t have a great evening then I screw it up at the end.” Veronica sipped her beer gratefully. It felt like heaven; it had been so long since she’d had one. She was worried how little it would take to get drunk, she had always been a light weight to begin with. But as her mother said, <em> be twentyone tonight </em>.</p><p>Veronica paused her sip to brace herself for whatever this question might be.</p><p>“Theo’s dad. Is he around at all? I figured you were single by the lack of ring and that you agreed to come out tonight with me. Also that outfit clearly screams serious date. I’m throwing in a ‘you look sexy as hell tonight’ to smooth over the absolute jerkiness of asking you this. I just want to get that nosey question out of the way.” A pit grew in Veronica’s stomach. <em> How do I explain JD? </em></p><p>“He’s not around. At all.”</p><p>“Oh! Good.” Tim said, a little pleased. “Sorry, I don’t mean good. That’s awful. For both of you. I just meant-”</p><p>“It’s okay. I know why you wanted to know. I’m free to date.” The waiter put down the fries and the trivia cards to start the evening. She picked one up and nibbled on it. “Her dad and I went to high school together. He-"</p><p>“Hey,” he said, reaching out and putting his hand over her’s. “You don’t have to tell me everything about him right now if you don’t want to. Like I said, it was probably a mistake to ask you like that.” She stared at it. It looked really right like that.</p><p><em> Does it feel right, though? </em>An inner thought popped into her head. It was completely her own.</p><p><em> Shut up, </em> she told herself. <em> He’s nice. </em></p><p>
  <em> Nice? You want nice all of a sudden? </em>
</p><p>She smiled and took her hand away, so she could sip her beer. “No. No, I want you to know. If we date and stuff you should know about him.” She took a deep breath prepared to tell him at least one important detail. “Her dad’s name was Jason Dean. JD, he liked being called. We went to high school together senior year and we fell very hard for each other.” <em> So hard you committed murdered with him. </em>“He’s not around now. But it’s not because he dumped me when he found out I was pregnant or anything. He’s not around because... he’s dead.”</p><p>That shocked Tim. “Oh. Wow. Not the story I expected at all. How?” He asked, reflexively. “Sorry. Again. I’m the worst.”</p><p>“Hey guys! Time to fill out the trivia cards. We’ll be starting soon!” The MC for the trivia night announced. Temporarily distracted they filled out the cards and began the trivia contest, eating their food and drinking a couple of beers together.</p><p>The night was… fun. They won the free bar tab and dinner for a month prize from trivia owing to both their smarts. Veronica impressed him thoroughly with her answers. After the game when they were drinking and talking Veronica realized she wanted to go home with him that night, badly. It had been about four years since she’d had any sexual encounter at all and just on a base level alone her body ached for it-- especially when he leaned over and put his hand on her stockinged knee.</p><p>She excused herself and called her mother asking if she didn’t mind doing the morning routine with Theo. She had just laughed knowingly and reminded her daughter explicitly, “please just be extra safe Veronica. Please.” It was hard for her to find fault with that warning.</p><p>And they were. Super safe that is. She was on The Pill, and he wore a condom as well. They were cuddling in his bed at his small attic room he rented near campus.</p><p>“I was supposed to go to Yale or Stanford or somewhere equally as fancy and expensive.” He groaned next to her, holding her.</p><p>“Those places are overrated. Trust me. I got my undergrad at Princeton.”</p><p>“You did?” She asked, surprised.</p><p>“Yeah, same curriculum as in state. Same professors too. It’s a small world to share faculty. I blew so much on undergrad I knew I couldn’t blow too much on my masters and PhD. That’s why I came back here.” His fingers were twiddling in hers. “Fuck Stanford. And Yale. Besides, you’re doing amazing. I can’t believe you do so well in classes with a job and baby to take care of.” He was complimenting her and already in love with her totally. He kissed her shoulder and held her tighter.</p><p>“My ex killed himself,” she admitted to him suddenly, realizing it had to come up eventually.</p><p>“Jesus,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“I tried to stop him but he had already had his psychotic break. It… was a long story with him. He loved me, at least I really think he did-- but he had so many other problems. In the end he just forced me to back away from him and let the bomb blow himself away.” She tried to keep her emotions out of the confession but felt tears nonetheless.</p><p>“Shit, you saw the whole thing?” He asked her, squeezing her arm in comfort.</p><p>“Yes. I wouldn’t turn away from him in the end. I had to make sure I was the last thing he saw before he died.” He kissed her shoulder again.</p><p>“I’m so sorry Veronica. Really. Did he know about…?”</p><p>“No. He didn’t. I didn’t even know until a few weeks later. I told his father, and he sends support checks out of what I think is guilt but that’s the most involved her dad’s side is with us.” They were silent in bed together. “Shit, I'm sorry. That was a lot to dump on you out of the blue.”</p><p>“No. Thank you for being honest with me. I can’t believe you survived all that.” Tim told her in wonderment. “You’re pretty special Veronica Sawyer.” </p><p>She needed to tell him that before they started a relationship. Just that though. She’d never confide the rest of it. Betty Finn was the only one she had done that to, the only one she trusted. She saw herself with Tim-- quite easily-- but she knew even then she’d never give herself to him fully even in the halcyon days of the beginning. She remembered how keenly Theo took to being held by him. The idea of giving her daughter a good dad was not an unpowerful tug inside of her. They fell asleep not long after, her body just desperately wanting to feel wanted again.</p><p>It had been a great night. A really great one. Tim was everything she could ask for in a boyfriend. In a lot of ways he was everything JD wasn’t-- he was safe, sane, nice. Her parents loved him. Her Dad wanted to adopt him practically. </p><p>The sex though. It wasn’t… bad. It was different, that’s for sure. Oh, her heart rate quickened as she kissed him, her body reacted when he touched her, and it wasn’t like he didn’t try or he was bad at it. She just hadn’t… finished. Well, unless she had other mental images or aids in her mind.</p><p>That night in his arms she dreamed for the first time about JD since he had died. He was leaning on his motorcycle, in his signature black trench coated look and smirk on his face, his hand outstretched to help her on the back of it. She held him tight as he drove at high speed down an empty highway until they came to an empty field.</p><p>“I love you,” she told him. “I miss you.” He didn’t respond. He merely lowered her to the blanket on the ground and slid his warm hands up her thighs, peeling her underwear off. With a crooked grin he draped her legs over his shoulders and began to nibble on her sensitive thighs.</p><p>She moaned in pleasure as he continued. Her hand reached down to grip his head as his hands stroked her thighs and continued to play with her, his hands reaching up to fondle her breasts.</p><p>He stopped briefly, leaving her whimpering for more, looked up at her and smiled. “Our love is God,” before proceeding to pull her legs closer against him and finish her.</p><p>She opened her eyes gasping in the wake of a powerful orgasm and instead of JD’s dark hair and cocky assured grin she saw the sandy locks of Tim. The look on his face was one of awe and shock.</p><p>
  <em> Holy fuck. </em>
</p><p>“That was good, right?” He asked, sounding pleased with himself. He stroked his hand down her body, breathless at her pleasure. She blinked, and flopped her head against the pillow, unable to remotely admit to him who she had thought had been going down on her.</p><p>“Yeah, it was.” <em> God, never tell him. </em></p><p>“I knew last night I hadn’t quite- well- it was a first time together, right? I just wanted to make it up to you. That’s all. Also, I’m making pancakes.” He grinned at her as he got out of bed and threw his boxers and sweatpants on. “You wanna do that thing where you wear one of my shirts as I make you breakfast and it’s big on you and way sexier?” He offered, handing her his t-shirt with Princeton’s logo on it. She blinked and put on a smile trying to pretend she didn’t just think it was JD she had made love with. <em> He’s really nice. Don’t fuck this up. </em></p><p>“Yeah, sure,” she said, laughing at his joke.</p><p><em> I shouldn’t date him. But I’m going to keep dating him because I am a horrible person. </em>  </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Sherwood, Ohio</b>
</p><p>
  <b>1999 -- September</b>
</p><p>Millie Walker was sitting in the front seat of her mom’s 1979 station wagon. They were probably getting stares at how old and beat up it was. Millie didn’t like being ashamed of it, knowing how ungrateful it made her, but as she looked around at the other cars and students of Westerberg she realized why on her first day someone sniggered, “trailer park” behind her back. Which didn’t make much sense to Millie. They lived in a duplex with her aunt and uncle and even when they did live in a trailer park outside of Toledo last year it had been lovely and comfortable. </p><p>Her mom had the window rolled down slightly to exhale the smoke from her cigarette but it always bounced back in her face no matter how hard she tried. They pulled up at Westerberg High. “Do you have everything?” She asked tersely.</p><p>Millie nodded grabbing her bag over her shoulder as she tugged at the sleeves of her holey sweater</p><p>“Maybe next week we’ll get you another peroxide box. Your roots look terrible” she told her, barely making eye contact.</p><p>“That’s how it’s supposed to look,” she mumbled. “That’s the way the other girls wear it.” Her mother scoffed. She wanted green streaks in it too but her mother told her no. “Can I have lunch money?” She asked, nervous. “They said yesterday that you need to show tax paperwork to get a free lunch at this school.” She had almost gone without except that one of the guidance counselors-- a Ms. Sawyer she found out later-- had been right behind her and casually snuck her the three dollars needed for the lunch. She smiled gratefully at Ms. Sawyer before scurrying away to some far off hole.</p><p>“These schools,” her mother swore. “Can’t just give a kid free lunch, can they? Gotta nose around my paperwork like I want to trick them out of a three dollar lunch.” She dug around her pocketbook and handed her two dollars. “It’s all I have on me. I’ll try and jump through their hoops as soon as I can.”</p><p>“The lunch special is $2.75,” Millie told her.</p><p>“Well, I don’t have any change. Can you at least get a bag of chips or something from the vending machine with it?” She nodded. Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry.” She turned and touched her face tenderly. “When you get home tonight we’ll have a big spaghetti dinner to make up for it, okay? I’ll pick up those frozen meatballs you like when I get my tips from the salon today.” Millie nodded. She wished her mom would go back to dancing, at least the tips were better than from the Clip and Curl she worked at and in an odd way more rewarding for her. She wasn’t just a dancer. She did hair, makeup, and costumes. It wasn’t right, she was an amazing hair stylist who had done all the girls hair at the club she was at and should be doing movies or shows or something. Instead she’s at a Clip and Curl still administering hair styles to old women who hadn’t updated their looks since 1975 that tipped her a dollar a cut.</p><p>But her Aunt Margaret and Uncle Ted had done got religion a couple of years ago and wouldn’t let her and Millie stay with them if she was dancing. The whole situation sucked. Aunt Maggie was able to look past her father not being in the picture, but the dancing was different. And they needed the place to stay. Mom couldn’t even smoke near the house-- hence her smoking in the car and thoroughly Fabreezing when she got home-- and she had to hide all her CD’s in her mom’s car. She even kept a change of clothes in the car too as Aunt Margaret wouldn’t tolerate her baggy jeans and band shirts. Tolerate was what her and her mother had to do. They were zoned for Westerberg High-- one of the better schools in the area-- and since she’d been kicked out of her last school they didn’t have much choice.</p><p>Her mother promised they’d figure out something better soon.</p><p>She was about to get up when her mom grabbed her arm. “Please sweetie. I don’t know if we can get you into another school in the area. Whatever happens just pretend you're normal, okay?” Millie nodded. Her mom didn't mean anything cruel by it, she knew.</p><p>
  <em> Pretend you’re normal. Mom, don't you know I’ve tried to do that my whole life? </em>
</p><p>Millie barely remembered her dad. She had a picture and he sent a card two months late from her birthday every year occasionally with a five dollar bill in it. He looked cool though. He had long hair and dressed like he thought he was Bruce Springsteen or something. Her mother seldom talked about him other than to swear at how useless he was. She had been young, just 20, when she got pregnant and he apparently promised her the world. At the end of the day though… she knew it was her fault.</p><p>She was four the first time she realized she wasn’t… normal.</p><p>She told her father she was playing with the neighbor from next door in their apartment building all afternoon. He was a little boy about her age in a funny set of slacks. Her dad was confused. They had just one neighbor on their floor and she was Mrs. Swanson who was 80. Mrs. Swanson did have a son but he got hit by a car in 1940 when he was four.</p><p>That was the first time they moved. And dad didn’t join them. Her mom told her once it wasn’t because of her, but Millie couldn’t help but think it. It was when the vagabond lifestyle started.</p><p>Everytime they thought they had a place to live Millie would find someone who was desperate to talk to her and she would respond, telling someone in a position of authority and the inevitable, “we think this might be early signs of” this disease or that disease would follow.</p><p>Her mother would nod, listen… then move. Her mother told her she wasn’t crazy but she had to start acting more normal. She couldn’t keep finding new clubs or salons to work at. </p><p>She met her first-- and probably only-- friend at her new school of Westerberg High on day two. “Hey, I’m Clarke. Clarke Howard,” he said. He was a bigger guy and had red spikey hair and wore chains. She had on a shirt with Tori Amos. “New kid, right?” She was always the “new kid.” She nodded as she tried to remember her new locker combo. “I just wanted to tell you I adore your shirt. I loved her last album, it was crazy good. Yesterday was Ani DeFranco and I adore her too. We should be t-shirt pals.” Millie couldn’t help but laugh. "There's so few of us artsy souls at Westerberg." They began talking and as they did one of the jocks purposely bumped into him.</p><p>It hadn’t been a huge shock on day one to learn Westerberg was a sports school and the football players were living gods among the mere mortals. Here it was football, when they lived in Indiana for a few minutes it was basketball.</p><p>“Look at his gay ass talking to the trashy new girl,” he chuckled. Clark immediately froze up. These encounters must be frequent for him. </p><p>“Probably a lesbo,” the other dude chuckled. “My sister said anyone who listens to that Lilith Fair shit must be.” Millie soured at the accusation of her sexuality. She wasn’t, but even if she was she didn’t think it right to go saying it to someone like it was a bad thing. She also had ridiculous teen girl fantasies about boys asking her on dates that she now knew were dashed here by one harmful put down. She also assumed-- maybe incorrectly, but maybe not-- by her new friend’s mannerisms and speech patterns he was probably. </p><p>Clark didn’t respond and neither did Millie. She had learned that in most schools it was best to just keep your head down amongst that kind of crowd. The first boy chuckled. “Looks like Westerburg finally got some trailer trash.”</p><p>“I don’t live in a trailer,” she said shocked at the assertion and too stupid to shut up. “I live in a duplex with my mom, Aunt and Uncle,” she told them. They laughed. Her mom had been right, this was a more affluent community her aunt and uncle lived in. At her last school most of the kids lived in odd arrangements like that or worse, it never would have gotten her made fun of.</p><p>Those kids had plenty of other material to mock her for. Like whenever they caught her talking to nothing in a corner. She let her hair fall in front of her face.</p><p>A third boy in a letter jacket approached the scene. “Jay, Mike-- come on, leave them alone.” They laughed as they spotted the third boy. Millie couldn’t help it, she looked up. Standing in front of her was a teenage adonis. Tall, good looking, with brown hair and equally brown eyes the third boy was terribly handsome. It shocked her how attracted to him she was. She liked rock stars like Gavin Rosdale, not jock types. </p><p>It was probably her imagination but he made eye contact with her.</p><p>“Aw Jake, come on. Just welcoming the new girl. And saying hi to our old buddy Clark here.”</p><p>The two boys-- Mike and Jay she presumed-- laughed as they went off to class. “Hey, don’t let those bozos get you down. They think they have to harass all the newbies. I’m Jake, by the way.”</p><p>“Millie. Hi,” she responded lost in his blue eyes. He flashed a smile before he went off to follow them.</p><p>After he was gone Clark leaned in. “Try not to nurse that crush forming too hard.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not into jock types.”</p><p>“Everyone has a crush on Jake Kellerman,” he responded laughing. “He’s the Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd of Westerberg.” She laughed back the aura of the bullying gone as they both talked excitedly over how much they loved Dazed and Confused. He gave her the extra 75 cents for her lunch. "Hell, I've been secretly nursing one myself." She laughed, fermenting a friendship.</p><p>She had made a friend that day. That was good enough for her. And there were no people that weren’t there to bother her.</p><p>She had her first appointment with Ms. Sawyer her third day of school. She was already predisposed to liking the woman after her first day when she paid for her lunch. She’s also realized very quickly that she was one of the cool grown ups at Westerberg probably because she was younger. She always wore mini-skirts and boots. Today she had on hoop earrings and a black beaded y necklace.</p><p>“Millie… Walker?” She asked as the girl slid into the seat. “We met. Everything iron out with the school about getting you lunch?” She shifted in her seat.</p><p>“My mom couldn’t produce all the paperwork.” Ms. Sawyer seemed to be swallowing her anger and muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “jerks” but she wasn’t sure.</p><p>“I’ll see what we can do,” she said composing herself. “I’m sorry.” Millie looked around the office and over at her desk. There were fun nick nacks from McDonald’s kid’s meals and other such tokens-- she liked the small Godzilla-- and she rested her eyes on a picture of a little girl about nine years old. Millie was surprised. Ms. Sawyer was so young.</p><p>“Is that your daughter?” She asked, probably coming off as nosey.</p><p>“Yes,” she said smiling. “She’s in the 4th grade. So,” she said, reminding Millie they were there to discuss things. “I wanted to check in on you. According to this file you’ve been to… four schools in two years?” Millie started playing with her sweater trying to cover her hands with them.</p><p>“Mom moves and stuff.”</p><p>“It says you were kicked out of the last one for… fighting?” Ms. Sawyer blinked at the seventeen year old girl that was barely five foot two and 120 pounds that looked like she could lose a fight with her shadow let alone another student.</p><p>She didn’t understand what she saw most days. Strange figures in old-timey clothes that would hound her for help that she mostly couldn’t give. How could she help people who died sometimes as far back as a hundred years or more? Worse was when she saw the other things. The creatures that weren’t human.</p><p>The girl she got into a fight with at her last school had a creature on her back. She made the mistake of telling her. Then the fight began when the girl attacked her. She had managed to get the creature to bounce but by the time a teacher had found the two girls…</p><p>Her friends had all told the school that she had attacked the girl out of the blue. </p><p>
  <em> Psycho! Freak! Crazy ass! </em>
</p><p>When mom got the call that she was being told not to come back to that school unless she would submit to a psych eval it was time to move again. Hence their staying with her Aunt and Uncle. </p><p>“Moving around a lot is tough. I’ve seen what it could do to a kid first hand,” she said a teensy bit sad. “Especially without any siblings." She did her best to stay normal like mom told her. All that resulted in was more appointments. Ms. Sawyer cared.</p><p>Two days later she found herself in the boiler room stairs. Clark told her it was the best place to have a smoke and not get caught. Her heart nearly stopped. She saw a man in a long trench coat, black pants and shirt at the bottom of the stairs. Her senses tingled.</p><p>
  <em> Oh no. Ignore him... Ignore him… </em>
</p><p>She didn’t. Which is how Millie Walker got herself pulled into a demonic mystery that had been raging at Westerberg High since it was built during the Great Depression.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There's so much story I want to tell with this. I have a section in the works for the history of Westerberg a la the Fear Street origins novels...</p><p>KUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE LOVED. Thank you. Also, if this gets confusing, let me know. This is kind of a big story with world building, so I want to know if it's working. Thanks so much to the people who do comment and kudo. :P</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Speeding Along at Dynamite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we meet Theodora Sawyer and she crosses paths with others.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys. I'm absolutely sure the stuff about motorcycles is wrong. I freely admit I'm no gear head. I just googled around for a  model that looked good and was about the right year (old but not too old to be "vintage") and that's what I got. If anyone can recommend a better one let me know. Also, writing a child's POV was hard. But like I said, I wanted to push my comfort zone and challenge myself with this story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theodora Sawyer-- mostly known as Theo but lately toying with the ideas of “Teddy,” or “Dora,” or even “Dot” like on Animaniacs-- knew exactly three big things about her father from her mother. She learned two things on her own. That makes a total number of things she knows about her father: five. Just five things she knows for certain by the fourth grade in 1999.</p><ol>
<li>He was dead.</li>
</ol><p>When Theo was about four she had realized most kids had “dad’s” and that her own mother called her grandpa “dad.” But she didn’t get bogged down in it. Her mom had a friend called Tim. Tim was nice. He did a lot of what the other kid’s dads did. He took her to the park sometimes and pushed the swing hard. She had liked that a lot. </p><p>When one of the other kids in her kindergarten class had asked her where her dad was she merely shrugged and said she didn’t think she had one. </p><p>“Everybody has a daddy,” the girl said, shocked. “My daddy lives in another house but he’s my daddy. Mommy told me that in order to make a baby you had to have a mommy and a daddy.” Theo thought hard. She had been told that babies come from mommy’s tummy but the subject of a dad had never come up. But then she remembered Tim. He was nice and around a lot. Mommy called him her boyfriend for a while. Right before summer started she had been told he was now her fiance. Her mom said that was a fancy word for “person you were going to marry.” She told her that after they were married Tim would live with them in the apartment they had just bought and moved into. Theo liked the new apartment. There was a playground area in the middle of the complex all the kids in the area played at with a long slide and monkey bars. She did miss living with grandma and grandpa though but they weren’t far away and after school she stayed with them if her mom was still working at the high school or finishing her classes so she still got to see them a lot.</p><p>After considering all of that she told her friend that that must be who her daddy was: Tim. “Why don’t you call him daddy?” The other girl asked, perplexed. Theo was equally perplexed. Her mom had never told her to call him that. She said his name was Tim so she called him Tim. She resolved that she would start calling him “Daddy” just to make it less perplexing. She always felt strange if she was too different than the other kids.</p><p>This caused a lot of confusion though when he and mom came to watch her Kindergarten do their end of the year performance the next day. She was very proud to be February in the Chicken Soup With Rice presentation-- one of the boys dressed as a snowman for it but she got to sing the lines-- and her mom, Tim, and Grandma and Grandpa clapped and waved excitedly when she finished her part. After the show was over they came up to her and she called Tim ‘Daddy’ in front of the other kids. The looks on the grown up’s faces were hard to read. Grandma and Grandpa looked pleased and Tim didn’t look upset but her mom did. Her mom just corrected her and told her that his name was Tim.</p><p>There wasn’t a lot of talking on the car ride home.</p><p>That night she feigned sleep in her new bed-- her mom got her Space Jam sheets brand new-- in her new room in their new apartment, but her door wasn’t fully shut so she could hear her mom and Tim arguing. He had started to stay over lately which added to her assumption that he was her “dad.”</p><p>“It doesn’t upset me that she called me that!” He told her mom. “Why does it upset you? I don’t get what the big deal is! Veronica, I love you! I love her! I want to marry you! I want that job! How many times do I have to tell you that?!” She overheard Tim say to her mom. Theo didn’t understand much of it, she was very little. She didn’t like the raised voices though. </p><p>“You never thought it was weird on The Brady Bunch that they just called their step-parents ‘mom’ and ‘dad?’ I always did.” Through the slit of her door she could see her mom in the living room, but not Tim. Her mom seemed to not want to talk about the whole thing. “It’s not the fifties. We don’t have to trick people into thinking I was never an- gasp!-- unwed mother.” </p><p>Theo had a lump in her throat. She knew that their fighting was her fault somehow. She hated seeing her mom upset.</p><p>“Veronica, come on. I just-” he told her. “I wanted to talk to you anyway about this,” he said calmly and more seriously. “I talked to a colleague at school about how to go about adopting-” Theo didn’t hear anymore of the conversation. Her mom had immediately slammed her door shut. The rest of their discussion seemed heated, but it was muffled behind the door.</p><p>The next morning after Tim left for his day of teaching his Saturday classes at the college her mom came into her room with a mug of cocoa for Theo and a coffee for herself.</p><p>“Last night chickadee, why did you call Tim ‘daddy’?” Her mom asked carefully as she climbed into the small bed with her. Theo blew on the cocoa. She loved it, but hated when it burned her mouth. She knew this conversation was serious. Mom seldom let her have cocoa unless it was a special occasion.</p><p>She just shrugged and focused on the hot chocolate. Her mom always used the Swiss Miss packets with the fake little marbits in them that she liked best. “All the other kids have dads. Even if they don’t live with them.” Her mom nodded. She was getting certified as a counselor and Theo was now used to her listening like that.</p><p>“Were the other kids making fun of that?” She asked cautiously. Theo shook her head. Theo understood about bullies. Her mom wanted her to immediately tell her if someone was bullying her and she knew being a bully to others was the height of wrong.</p><p>“No. But Tim’s always around and he’s nice to us. And he’s your fe-yance-say.”<br/><br/>“Fiancé,” her mom corrected as she nodded. “I know it’s confusing.” She started stroking her black hair, brushing her bangs to the side. “Tim is nice, and yes we’re getting married but his name is Tim, okay? He’s not your dad.” Theo nodded, but didn’t quite understand. <em> Then who is? </em>She almost asked but then got distracted by her Saturday morning cartoons and Lucky Charms.</p><p>It wasn’t long after that that Tim told her sadly he wouldn’t be around anymore and that he was no longer her mom’s fiance. </p><p>“Do you not like us anymore?” She asked him, confused. Her mom was on the other side of the room barely keeping her tears in order.</p><p>“Chick-” Her mother started.</p><p>“Let me,” he told her sternly. “It’s not your fault, okay? It isn’t. It has nothing to do with you. Your mom and I just decided we shouldn’t get married. It’s, um, for the best.” His voice cracked and he looked very upset. Theo leaned out and hugged him. He took it and gave her a squeeze before heading out the door barely saying goodbye to her mother. He just had a bag full of his things in his hand. </p><p>After he left Mom had told her the same things as well. Theo was upset, she had liked him. He made pancakes for breakfast and knew how to flip them in the pan. She understood from the conversation she had had with her mom after she accidentally called him dad that he wasn’t, but she didn’t know anything about her own dad. Or if she even had one so it hurt all the same. Her mom always told her not to bottle feelings inside or they might burst but she couldn’t help it-- she didn’t want her mom to know about how upset she was about it.</p><p>It was about that time her mom picked her up and sat her on her lap and told her she needed to explain to her about her dad. Her real one. “You do have a dad chickadee,” she explained cautiously as she stroked her hair. “There was a man I was with and we felt very strong feelings for each other. Those feelings were so strong that we made you. That man was your dad.” Theo nodded.</p><p>“Where is he?” She asked cautiously, unsure if it would upset her mother. Her mom just breathed out slowly.</p><p>“Do you remember when I told you what being dead means?” She asked her slowly as if this were a hard thing to say for her. Theo had. </p><p>“Dead’s like Fuzzball,” she replied sadly. She missed Fuzzball. Her hamster had stopped moving a few months prior and her mother had explained: being dead meant that someone was gone and couldn’t come back. Everyone eventually goes, she explained, but not to worry since mommy would be around for a long time. She told her it was all right to be sad about it though and if she had other questions to ask.</p><p>“Yes, like Fuzzball. Tim was very nice and he loved you, but he wasn’t your dad. Your dad is like Fuzzball. He went away and he can’t come back. Not because he doesn’t want to but because he can’t.” Even then Theo understood that that made her mom very sad. She had hugged her mother and saw that she had tried not to cry. “Do you understand?”</p><p>Theo looked at her mom. “My dad is dead. He’s gone and he can’t come back,” she replied in a small voice to let her mom know she understood.</p><p>“Yeah, and it looks like It’s going to be just you and me for awhile, chickadee.” She chucked her chin and snuggled her. “But that’s all we need though, right?” At six she had agreed. Her mom was all that she needed. After all her mom was kind of the best.</p><p>Theo was in the second grade when she started to understand this explanation was not like the other kids and where all their dad’s were. Oh, yes, there were a few other kids whose families were different. Some whose parents were divorced and they went from mom to dad’s house depending on the weekend or had step-dad’s as well as regular dad’s. By the time Theo was in school “broken homes” as she heard one disapproving mom on the playground refer to them-- the same one that insisted Theo was a poor “latchkey” kid since she went to her grandparents after school instead of having her mom there to pick her up all the time-- were not uncommon. </p><p>There weren’t many whose dads were dead though. Her classmate, Jenny Rosen, was the only other kid she knew whose dad was also dead. He had been a Marine. He died in the Persian Gulf in 1991 when she was one. She couldn’t remember him but she said her mom loved showing her pictures of him and telling stories about him so it felt like she had known him. She still saw her father’s parents, brother and sister and their families regularly. Her dad was a hero, according to Jenny. She brought in his Purple Heart to show everyone at Show and Tell. The other kids were suitably impressed. Theo didn’t understand how if her dad was dead too than why didn’t she know as much about him as Jenny did hers.</p><p>How was she supposed to say her dad was “dead” if it wasn’t like how Jenny had it? After that she started telling them that he wasn’t dead-- he was in the Air Force and stationed overseas! He flew planes! He sent her letters all the time! He couldn’t wait to get back to her and her mother. He loved them with his whole heart and missed them terribly. He sent exotic presents from far off lands but she couldn't show them in class because her mom wouldn't like it.</p><p>It was a hard lie to keep up. Eventually this got back to her mother when she had come to pick her up from her Girl Scout’s meeting and Josie’s mom-- she was in her troop but didn’t go to the same school as Theo and hadn’t gotten the scoop on her from the other mom’s-- started chatting with her. Josie was her new best friend.</p><p>“So where exactly is your husband stationed?” She had asked innocently enough. Theo swallowed realizing she was being caught in a lie.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Her mom asked, confused. “I’m not married,” she told her point blankly. Her mom had never been ashamed of that.</p><p>“Oh,” Josie’s mom had said. “Theo’s just been saying…” Her mother’s expression got more unreadable as each part of the elaborate lie she told unfurled. Poor Josie’s mom just looked even more sympathetic as her mother quietly corrected the woman.</p><p>There had been a long talk about lying after that. Lying was bad, especially big elaborate ones like that. When word got out in her class and Girl Scout troop that she had lied about her dad, the other kids made fun of her. They said she made things up to sound more interesting and they didn’t like her anymore. One of the nastier kids-- the one who’s aforementioned mother referred to her as a “latchkey kid”-- had started telling kids that according to his mother she didn’t have a father, that her mother didn’t even know who her father was, that she was unwanted. That made her very upset. So upset she pushed him-- hard. He fell and played the whole incident up to maximum cry factor clinging to his arm as if she broke it. She had barely bruised him. </p><p>His mother was very upset and demanded she be punished. Theo was now furious that he was lying about how hard she had pushed him and how badly he had gotten hurt on top of how he wasn’t being punished like she was. His mom was one of the class mother’s and was able to be far more in with the teacher and the school than her mom could so his side was taken over hers. Also, in her school they had a lot of big time rules against fighting. The teacher didn’t even let her tell them what the boy had said. “It doesn’t matter what was said. Pushing him is against the rules.”</p><p>She had to stay after school and watch a video tape about why fighting isn't the solution to a problem. Everybody’s hair and clothes in it were so old they were back in fashion. </p><p>Her mom had believed her at least especially after she told her mom what that boy had said. Her mom tried to talk to the teacher about this but it ended up going nowhere and with her mom frustrated at everything.</p><p>“It’s not an easy lesson to learn Theo, but sometimes we have to accept that bad people do not always get punished for doing bad things. Sometimes good kids get punished when they don’t deserve it. But fighting or hurting others doesn’t solve it. Okay?” She nodded, still upset over the whole thing but knowing there wasn’t much else she could do. It sucked being a kid sometimes. It was a very powerless position to be in. “And that boy is a jerk. And a liar. You had a father and you were and always will be wanted, okay?” Her mother hugged her, hard.</p><p>The whole thing was kind of a moot point when all was said and done. At the end of the school year that nasty boy had to move to Cincinnati after his parents got divorced and most of the other kids didn’t care as much as he had. She told Josie she was sorry she lied and Josie forgave her. Her mother had explained that it was the right thing to do. They went to the mall not long after that with her mom and bought a friendship necklace at Claire’s. It was two halves of a heart that said, “bff.” They each wore one.</p><p>After how much trouble she got in for the lying incident and “the fight” she was petrified of the nature of her mom’s “I know you had your reasons but I still have to give you a punishment” punishment.</p><p>           2. He rode a motorcycle.</p><p>But… a punishment never came. One Saturday morning after the “incident”-- or “incidents” including the fight-- at school her mom had taken her to their storage garage in their apartment. At first she had no idea why her mom was showing her a bunch of old boxes. She groaned inwardly, <em> my punishment is to clean out the old junk. </em></p><p>That is, until she finally laid eyes on it and fell in love: her dad’s motorcycle. It was a  red and black 1981 Harley-Davidson FXS Low-Rider. She was so fascinated and in awe that the next day she got a bunch of books out of the library that explained the models, the makes, and everything about them. Her mother also genuinely got excited when she was showing it off after she was done packing up the side bags. “I bet you had no idea this was in here, did you?” She asked her excitedly. “You know your old mom can drive it, right?” Her mom was practically bragging about it. Theo was so shocked she just shook her head.</p><p>
  <em> Holy moley! A real motorcycle! Mom actually had one! How could I have never known? </em>
</p><p>She handed her a helmet which shocked her even more. <em> She’s going to take me for a ride on it?! </em>“I wanted to wait until you were older, but you’re tall for your age and I think now is as good a time as any to try it out as we could. So… wanna go for your first ride on it?” She barely had time to say yes before the helmet was secured and she was safely planted on the back behind her mother. Her mom bubbled at her excitement for the bike.</p><p>Her Mom then proceeded to lecture her on every single safety measure about riding on the back of a bike. She also had to hold on to her very tightly. Theo listened carefully and promised her mother a thousand times that she’d follow the rules and be safe. </p><p>But that first ride. That first ride was like magic. She had realized later on that her mom had driven very slow and very carefully with her on the back seat but she was in love with it nonetheless. The wind, the speed, clutching on to her mom really tight… it was addictive. She had fallen in love with the idea of getting by on a motorcycle and knew she would always want one.</p><p>Eventually they found themselves parked a little outside of Sherwood in a large rest stop off the highway close to a 7/11. Her mom went inside and treated them to slushies. Theo got a Coke flavored one and her mom got a cherry. They went to a picnic area and her mother pulled out some sandwiches and chips for lunch from the storage under the seat. Theo eyed it all with suspicion. First a motorcycle ride, then a Slurpee, and now chips? This was very much not like her mother to offer so many treats in one afternoon. Especially when she had just gotten into a major amount of trouble at school.</p><p>“Did you like riding on the motorcycle?” Her mom asked her even though she knew the answer. Theo’s eyes lit up.</p><p>“That was the coolest thing ever! Can we ride it all the time? Can you teach me to ride it when I’m old enough? How long have you had it and never showed it to me? Can you take me to school on it? Everyone would die if they saw that!” Her mother laughed.</p><p>“Woah, woah, slow down chickadee.” Theo bristled, she wasn’t crazy about that nickname anymore. She was eight now and was too old to be called that. “I’ll answer those questions one at a time.” She slowly breathed in and breathed out.</p><p>“The motorcycle belonged to your... father.” Theo suddenly felt funny inside. Her mom smiled and started to get a look in her eye she had never seen before-- especially if the rare topic of her dad had come up. “He used to pick me up all the time on it,” she said with a far off look in her eye. “Sometimes we’d just ride around and not go anywhere in particular but we’d always wind up here and pull out a blanket and lay on the grass up here after getting slushies.” She took a long drag of it. “He loved these things. There were a lot of times like that when we first began seeing each other,” she told her, her eyes getting a bit misty. Theo barely noticed. Her mom was volunteering information about her dad! Her mind raced.</p><p>Theo loved Grease 2. Her mind immediately went to an image of Michael and Stephanie riding around on a bike in leather jackets. She mentioned that to her mother. She laughed uproariously in response. “Wrong time period chickadee. This was the late 80s not the early 60s. He wore a trench coat and as you know I am always the height of fashion.” She laughed. Her mom loved clothes and refused to dress “like a mom.” She had worn her best ankle boots today under slightly flared jeans, and a suede jacket over her black lace spaghetti strapped tank top. More than once she had heard one of the other mom’s whisper something about her mom’s clothes the few times her mom had the ability to classroom volunteer. Instead of embarrassing her though it made her feel kind of proud. Her mom was “cool.” Her best friend Josie always told her she wanted to dress like her when she was old.</p><p><em> Trench coat. He wore a trench coat. </em> It was a minor detail but she also pocketed away in her small stash of things she now knew about her dad. <em> He loved slushies. </em> She did too, and she reveled in the shared love. He had ridden a motorcycle, he wore a trench coat, and he liked slushies. It felt like a treasure trove more than she had ever known. </p><p>Theo understood why her mom was doing this. “Are you telling me this because of what I told the kids at school? Because of the fight that wasn’t a fight?” Her mom looked away.</p><p>“Yes.” Her mom looked nervous. “I know I made sure you understood that lying-- especially big ones like that-- was bad but… I understand a little why you did it. And I know why what that boy said to you upset you enough to push-” Theo was about to argue that she hardly fought the kid, “I know. You didn’t push him that hard. Not the point right now. I know you don’t really know a lot about him. I know you have many questions. You did have a father and I want to tell you more about him...  but you also need to understand,” her mom breathed in and out, “it’s very hard for me to talk about him.”<br/><br/>“Since he’s dead?” She asked softly. After mom’s grandma-- Nana she’d called her-- died last year it was hard for her mom and grandparents to talk about her too. Her mom reached out and took her small hands in hers.</p><p>“Yes,” her mom told her quietly. <em> How’d he die? How’d he die? Just ask her Theo, just ask her! </em> But she didn’t. Theo was scared. Her mother so rarely divulged this information about her dad and she was worried one wrong question would break the trance she was in. <em> But he had been so young, right? Mom was only 26. I’m 8. He must have only been 17 too. </em> Nana died because she had heart problems, it happens when people are older. But her dad wasn’t older. She understood that young people like her mom and dad don’t just die like Nana did. <em> Was it on the motorcycle? </em>She remembered seeing the Celine Dion music video for “It’s All Coming Back to Me” where her boyfriend died in a tragic motorcycle accident. She pocketed that pet theory away. A tragic motorcycle accident. A poor life cut down far too soon. Her mother had once told her she had a melodramatic streak in her.</p><p>The one she knew she couldn’t ever really ask her mother floated to the top of her mind: <em> Did he know about me? </em>Theo wasn’t sure which answer she prefered: no, he didn’t know and died not knowing she even existed or yes, but he died upset he never got to meet her.</p><p>“When you’re old enough-” Theo flopped in her seat. She hated the expression, “when you’re old enough.” It always felt vague and forever away, like when mom said “we’ll see” rather than yes or no. “Hey, I mean it,” her mother corrected her. “I’m making you a solid promise chickadee.” She corrected her posture and saw her mom’s hand held out to make a pact. Theo took it and shook it. “When you’re older, before high school starts I’ll tell you everything you need to know about him, okay?” Theo thought about it for a moment. That was the best offer she’d ever gotten on the matter.</p><p>“Okay,” she agreed. </p><p>“From now on though, when people ask you about him just tell them... ‘all families are different.’ Yours is just you, your mom, your grandma, and your grandpa, okay? Tell them you have a dad but he died, and it hurts to talk too much about him. As you get older people will respect that more, okay?” Theo nodded but then realized something.</p><p>“But what about my other grandfather?” Theo asked, suddenly curious why she only brought him up when the card and present came at her birthday and Christmas. Her mother squeezed her hand and looked tense. She didn’t really have an answer for her on that topic. “Isn’t he my family too?”</p><p>            3. She had a grandfather named “Bud Dean” and he sent her cards and presents at her birthday and Christmas. </p><p>Theo couldn’t remember what age she was when she realized she got an extra present at her birthday and Christmas from a mysterious “Grandpa” she had never met. It was that moment after riding on the motorcycle with mom she realized she had to ask.</p><p>Grandparents were your parent’s parents. She was old enough to understand that. Theo understood that a lot of the other kids had two sets of grandparents. She herself had the pair in Sherwood. That grandpa called her, “little peanut” and liked to take her to the community pool when it was hot and drove her to and from school sometimes when her mom couldn’t. He told silly jokes and liked showing her off at the local bar he went to to watch college football games. He always let her order shirley temples with extra cherries. He wouldn’t let her change the radio station off of NPR. She loved her grandpa and his and grandma’s house was like a second home to her. She slept over at least once a week. She even kept some school clothes and toys there. Every holiday meal she’d ever had was with them.</p><p>This was a different man than the one who sent the packages though. She understood that. This other grandpa was named Bud Dean. It said that on the return label. He never wrote much in the card other than “Happy birthday!” or “Merry Christmas!” but he did always end it with, “Love, Grandpa.” If this man was her dad’s dad then why didn’t he come see her? Why didn’t he want to tell her about her father? Why sign the cards with “love” if he didn’t love her? </p><p>Her mother had simply responded to her question about him with, “I’ll tell you more about him too when I tell you more about your father before you start high school, okay?” Theo had no choice but to agree but she couldn’t help but ask one final question.</p><p>“Does he not like me enough to visit?” Her mother’s face fell in complete sympathy.</p><p>“No chick, no. He has pictures of you and I tell him all about you. It’s not because of you. I don’t really- I mean- I think he does care for you a lot actually. Just… in his own way,” her mother said carefully and diplomatically. “It was all very complicated between him and your dad. He doesn’t visit because- because-” She sighed. Her mom was at a loss of words.</p><p>“Because it’s hard for him to talk about my dad too?” Theo supplied.<br/><br/>“Yes,” she told her firmly. “I think it is,” she told her slowly and carefully. “I think that is why he can’t visit you. But it has nothing to do with you, you hear me? Nothing. You’re amazing and completely loved, okay?” Theo nodded and tried not to let some tears fall out. Her mom gave her a tissue from her bag and lifted her fingers up to kiss them. “Come on,” she told her in a happier voice. “Why don’t we cruise around some more. Annoy the residents of Sherwood with our motor. Wanna drive past Josie’s house so she can see the bike?” Theo brightened. She thought it would be fun to show it off to her friend.</p><p>On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day she and her mother always spent the night at her grandparent’s house. She always opened grandma and grandpa’s present on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. They were more prone to giving clothes, but they-- she suspected grandma-- never picked out ugly ones. They also traditionally got her the holiday Barbie every year.</p><p>Her mysterious grandpa’s was the one she always opened last. Santa-- as she now officially as of that year understood him to be her mother-- usually got her the thing she had asked for or needed on top of the usual assortment of candy, fruit, stickers, and activity books. Mysterious grandpa’s was always the one with the biggest surprise though. She never knew what to expect. And usually it was pretty good. Her birthday that year was a Discman, the kind that was skip proof. Her best friend Josie was suitably impressed.</p><p>She had flipped out last Christmas-- of 1998, when she was eight-- when she opened the small package and saw her very own Tomagatchi. She had wanted one but worried it’d be too much on top of the other items on her list to ask Santa-- or as she now understood it, mom-- for. She always worried about asking for too much. She’d seen enough Christmas Specials about how Christmas wasn’t about the presents to know asking for too much was wrong. She was excited though. Everyone at school wanted one and she couldn’t wait to show it off after break.</p><p>“How in the world could he have known to get her one of these?” Her grandma asked her mom perplexed. They were in the dining area off the living room. Grandpa was wrestling with taking the middle wood piece out of the table to make it non-holiday short again. Her Uncle Mark and Aunt Nancy had just left with her cousin Richie who was two years older than her. Her Uncle though was grandpa’s younger brother, not her mom’s… her family could be confusing sometimes with everyone at different ages.</p><p>Mom and grandma were sipping their sherry’s. Grandma was examining her virtual pet she had left on the table earlier like it was a foriegn artifact. “I didn’t even realize she wanted one.” Theo had been eavesdropping on her mom and grandparents after dinner, pretending to be asleep in front of the claymation specials zonked out from the exciting day Christmas always was. Carefully she lowered the volume and kept up the pretense of being asleep and tried to listen in. It was rare they ever discussed her other grandpa-- at least when she was around.</p><p>“I don’t know mom. He probably just asked the person in the store what all the kids wanted right now. They’re really popular. She consumes pop culture like it’s going out of style-- no wonder she wanted one. Even the teenagers at Westerberg have them or want them. She probably thought asking for it would be too much. You know she worries like that.”</p><p>“Are these things very expensive?” Her grandma asked, suddenly shocked.</p><p>“I mean, they’re not cheap but it’s not like he lavishly overspent. I don’t know, she is his only granddaughter.”</p><p>“Come on honey,” her grandpa responded to grandma, “who else does he have to spend his money on? Other than her it’s not like he really, well, has anyone, right?”</p><p>“Bill!” Her grandmother exclaimed. “Don’t say things like that. It might be true but still. It is Christmas. And we really don’t know anything about his life.”</p><p>“You brought it up,” he responded. “I wasn’t being cruel. I do pity him if that’s truly the case. At least he took responsibility to help support her. I’ll always be grateful for that. It made it so Veronica could go to college and not work full time and pay for her own home.”</p><p>“You both make it seem like he’s some mysterious benefactor grandfather ala the Boxcar Children. He runs a demolition company. He used to move around a lot but lately the checks are mostly post-marked Chicago. That’s all,” her mom said. <em> Grandpa lives in Chicago? That’s not that far. </em> </p><p>“In all these years he really has never asked to meet her?” Her grandpa said.</p><p>“No,” her mom said, surprised. “I send him some pictures and a letter around her birthday telling him a little bit about her but…” </p><p>“You don’t.” Her grandfather said, shocked. “I remember you told me he wanted some pictures. But a letter too?”</p><p>“She’s a great kid,” her mom’s voice sounded kind of sad. “I like telling people about her. And if I can’t tell her father-” <em> Father?! </em>Theo was incredibly intrigued. Were they going to talk about him?</p><p>“Okay, peanut, that’s enough sherry for you tonight. You’re getting maudlin. And forgetful.” Theo inwardly sighed. <em> Some Christmas miracle. One more piece of information would have been nice. </em></p><p>“Sorry dad. I know you didn’t like him.”</p><p>“That’s not fair. It isn’t that I didn’t like him, peanut. We met him once, and he was sick and told us… strange things about you. We didn’t realize you were together… like that. And by that point he had already started to spiral-”</p><p>“You two, please. It’s Christmas. Can we not talk about this anymore?” <em> Darnet, </em>Theo thought. She had no idea what grandpa had meant by all of that.</p><p>Her mother dropped her voice. “I don’t like talking about this with her in earshot. Even if she’s asleep. Okay?” Theo heard her mom get up and walk to the couch. Quickly she closed her eyes, to look like she was sound asleep. She felt her body being moved and she did her best to ape it waking her up. She was very good at fake sleeping. Her mom had come to the couch to pick her up and snuggle. “Sorry chickadee. Go back to sleep.” She closed her eyes again and let mom hug her as she wrapped a blanket around the two of them. She felt a kiss on her head. “Merry Christmas Theo.” Eventually she did fall asleep for real.</p><p>          4. She found one picture. She had found it on her own without her mom’s help. </p><p>In September of 1999 Theo had spent three weeks in fourth grade. Her best friend was still Josie Benson from her Girl Scout’s Troop. She was very happy when third grade started and Josie had transferred from her Catholic school to the public one and they were placed in the same class. </p><p>Right now they were both obsessed with the Babysitters Club Mystery series and they were up for solving any mystery challenge they could. She had confided in Josie-- who swore the ultimate oath of best friendship never to tell-- the things she knew about her father. Theo told her she wanted to know more. Josie told her this sounded like a mystery and that if they investigated secretly and were determined they’d figure out more. She was sure of it. Theo was nervous at first since she knew it might upset her mom, but her desperation to know more about her dad and her impatience to wait “until she was older” got the better of her and she agreed.</p><p>Saturday afternoons her mom liked to go to the grocery store. In that second weekend of September of 1999 she had told her she didn’t want to tag along. Her mother had told her fine, and left her there.</p><p>“You can watch the two o’clock movie then, but not the five o’clock. We’ll go rollerblading or something when I get back, hear me? You’re not spending all Saturday in front of the TV. If it’s a good 5:00 we’ll set the VCR to watch together later tonight, okay?” She groaned. Mom was convinced she didn’t get enough outdoors time.</p><p>“Yes mom,” she droned. Her mother paused and looked at her strangely. Theo started. It was the way she looked at her on her birthday or when she accomplished something important. She walked up and touched her hair before dropping a kiss on it. Theo brushed it aside, embarrassed by the attention even though no one was around to see it. “Moooom.” Her mother just laughed.</p><p>“We’ll ride the bike to the park over in Lafayette, okay?” Theo did perk at that. It had been two weeks since they’d taken it out and she loved riding with her mom in the fall air.</p><p>“Okay!” She responded. A few moments later Theo heard the click of the door on the lock. She crept to the window and waited until she saw her mother’s car leave. She had about two hours she figured and it was not her first time snooping in her mom’s room: she knew exactly where to go.</p><p>Snooping through mom’s stuff was tricky. You had to carefully make sure anything you touched got left back exactly where it was or she would definitely notice. Mom noticed even the slightest change-- as she had learned a few months ago when she got in trouble for snooping through her mom’s jewelry box and dresser drawers.</p><p>That last time she had looked though she found a box-- one in her closet--  and in it were pictures, older ones. She heard the front door before she had time to investigate and had to put it back quickly. This time she gave herself more time and opened the box carefully. They were unorganized but the ones she wanted were on top.</p><p>She gingerly picked one up. Her heart beat quickly. In the picture there was a boy with his arm around a girl leaning on a motorcycle. Theo read the back: </p><p>
  <em> “JD and Veronica-- Our Love is God.”  </em>
</p><p>She flipped it back over and stared at the cute boy with the messy dark hair, trench coat, and the Blue Oyster Cult shirt. </p><p>The bike was her dad’s-- she’d recognize the Harley in their garage unit from anywhere-- and the girl was definitely her mom. She hadn’t aged that much and she was just as pretty and stylish as she always was in her blue stockings, black skirt, and blue blazer and so terribly young. </p><p>The boy though. Her heart jumped to her throat. The boy’s arm was around her mother and his gaze was not on the photographer, it was on her mother. Her mom stared ahead at the camera smiling, practically blushing at his attention and she was pressed close to him. </p><p>That was him, she realized. It had to be. Why else would he have his arm around her and leaning on her dad’s bike? “Dad…” She said out loud, trying to memorize the dark mysterious boy in the photograph, and understand what she was looking at. <em> Dad. </em> She had tried to imagine him so many times but suddenly those imaginary faces were gone. Now she had this one. What had his name been? D must be for Dean, like her grandpa’s name, he surmised. But what was the J for? </p><p>She sat on the floor staring at it. She almost wished he was facing forward so she could see his face better but at the same time it touched her so deeply that he was staring at her mom like that. And from the look in her mom’s face she enjoyed every moment she was in his arms. <em> He loved her. She loved him. How could you die when you were so obviously in love with her? You didn’t even get to meet me. </em></p><p>That t-shirt. Why did it look so familiar? She got up and walked over to her mom’s laundry. She went through the basket and found what she was looking for and pulled out a shirt. She went from the shirt to the picture before she realized… <em> it’s the same shirt. This was her dad’s shirt. Mom still wears it. </em>How many times had she seen her mom in it and pajama bottoms? She only even knew it was Blue Oyster Cult because she had asked her once what “BOC” stood for.</p><p>
  <em> No wonder it’s hard for you to talk about him mom. You still wear his shirt to sleep in. </em>
</p><p>She had been so wrapped up in her snooping that she didn’t hear the door open. “Theo! Come help me carry these up from the car!” She nearly shrieked. Quickly she pocketed the photo in her hoodie sweatshirt and put the box back the way she had found it. Quickly she wiped her face realizing she had been crying and threw the shirt back in her mom’s laundry basket. She couldn’t let her mom know what she’d been doing. She was playing with fire taking the photo but she needed more time with it. She needed to show it to Josie. She thought a photo would answer her questions but now she just had too many more.</p><p>“So that’s him?” Josie asked. They were laying on the floor of the Benson’s refurbished basement watching MTV. Josie’s parents and her own mom had to go to the elementary school for a parent’s thing so she was over waiting for her mom to come back and take her home. Ostensibly Josie’s older sister Gloria was watching them while their folks were all out but whenever sixteen year old Gloria “babysat” them she mostly just ate popcorn and watched TV with them in between phone calls with her friends. And it was Tuesday night. At 8:00 she would grab the remote away from them and they had to watch Buffy followed by Angel. She always called her best friend Janice afterwards to discuss it.</p><p>“Yeah, it has to be. Look at the back. ‘<em>JD and Veronica-- Our Love is God</em>.’ Wow. Who writes that? I don’t even know what that means but it’s really romantic. Is that your mom’s handwriting?” They flipped the picture back and forth. </p><p>“No. That must be my dad’s.” Her fingers traced over the scratchy writing reverently.</p><p>Gloria was in between phone calls now and actually heard that part.</p><p>“Your dad?” She asked, confused. “But you don’t have a-” she caught herself just in time and felt bad. Her kid sister and friend were annoying and she hated being forced to babysit them, but she was raised nice enough not to say mean things about her or that she didn’t have a dad around. Gloria also knew her mom from Westerberg which she had transferred into last year. Ms. Sawyer was super cool, wore the best clothes, and always had condoms if anyone asked for them on the down low-- not that Gloria really <em> needed </em> them yet but she liked the idea that she would soon-- and never tattled on any of your problems. </p><p>Everyone kind of knew her mom had had Theo super young but also no one really knew who this mysterious dad was since she had never been married. The rumor mill ranged from Morrissey to Sean Penn to some rando in the bathroom at a Replacements show in Cincinnati. Gloria had always hoped it was a rockstar. It would mean Mrs. Sawyer even cooler than she already was. </p><p>“I mean, oh cool, did your mom give you a picture? Your mom’s like the only cool grown up at Westerberg. Let me see? I bet he was just as cool as her.” Reluctantly Theo handed over the pic. “Oh woah… hello JD,” she said like she was talking about Matt Damon or Ben Affleck. “God, of course he was a total hottie. That’s a totally rad picture. You’re dad was like some total badass. Look at that bike and trench coat! I guess the rockstar rumors weren’t that far off.” Theo bristled at her appraisal of her dad. The face to the abstract concept was still new to her. “Aw man, and that blazer! Your mom was super cute back then. Man, he looks like he was obsessed with her.” She read the inscription on the back. "Our love is god... oh wow, killer sentiment."</p><p>“Give it back, please,” she told her.</p><p>“Let me borrow it please? I have to show this around school. Everyone would totally flip to see Ms. Sawyer this young and hot with her equally hot boyfriend!” Suddenly visions of being let into the super cool clique of Jake Kellerman, Mike Thomas, Jay Springer, and Cassie Newman-- Westerberg’s resident cool kids-- with this little fun nugget of gossip danced in her head. That’s the group the love of her life Jo Callahan hung out in. On top of being on the football team he was in a band and was funny. He had the dreamiest eyes.</p><p>“Give it back to her, Gloria. It’s her picture and her mom doesn’t know she took it.” Gloria looked shocked.</p><p>“Wait, I know your mom doesn’t tell anyone about her ex, but she still hasn’t even told you about him?” Reluctantly Theo shook her head. Gloria gave the picture back realizing this might be bigger than her need to impress a few of the cool kids that go to her school.</p><p>“Mom only told me a few things,” she admitted to Gloria hoping her older brain might help her figure some of this out. “His last name is Dean. I get presents and cards from his dad-- my grandpa I mean. The return address says the name, ‘Bud Dean.’ I overheard my mom last Christmas tell my grandparents he runs a demolition company and moves a lot but now he's in Chicago.” Gloria’s eyes bugged.</p><p>“Woah! As in Big Bud Dean Demolition? Blast from the past. ‘I’m Big Bud Dean: if it’s in your way I’ll make your day!’” She laughed, Theo and Judy were perplexed. “Oh, you guys are too young. Those commercials were on TV, like, all the time when I was in elementary school. Crazy guy would scream at-  Wait.” She looked at the picture and recognized the school in the background. “You mom went to Westerberg, right?” Theo nodded. “How old is your mom again? She’s young?”</p><p>“27,” she responded, always a bit anxious to tell people. Classmates and adults always asked her that. She had only now started to realize there was a stigma to having a young mom. She didn’t understand why though, her mom was the best.</p><p>“That means she graduated in…” she did the math. “1990.” Her brain turned. J. Dean that seemed… familiar. “You’re dad’s last name was Dean? J. Dean.” The plaque in front of the Vice Principal’s office:</p><p>
  <em> Jason Dean: 1972-1989 </em>
</p><p>“No way,” she muttered. Gloria started extrapolating. “Holy shit!” Josie and Theo looked at her with blank expressions. So, you guys haven’t heard about the... ‘Year of Death’ yet, have you?” They shook their heads. “Oh my god, everyone at Westerberg knows this story. Okay- for real. Heather Chandler-- prom queen, prettiest and most popular girl ever to waltz down the halls of Westerberg. Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney-- star football players and all around big men on campus. And then there was Jason Dean, a new weird psycho kid that wore all black and no one talked to.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Four seniors, all dead before Thanksgiving break. All suicides. Heather Chandler drank a cup of Drain-O in order to tell people that pretty girls have problems too. Kurt and Ram? Secretly gay and too scared to come out. Suicide pact, shot each other in the graveyard-- still clutching their copies of Stud Puppy.” Josie and Theo looked at each other. They kind of understood what “gay” meant although the jokes on Three’s Company re-runs still didn’t quite make sense to them. Gloria blew right on, “and Jason Dean? The craziest one of all. He strapped a bomb to his chest and-!” She stopped looking down where Theo was holding the picture of the hot guy with his arm around Ms. Sawyer, both seventeen. <em> Holy shit. Jason Dean, the psycho new kid that blew himself up on the football field. He’s the same hot guy on the motorcycle with Ms. Sawyer: Theo’s dad. </em> “Oh my god. That’s your dad.”<br/><br/>“Strapped a bomb to his chest- and what? What did he do?” Theo asked, concerned. Suddenly Gloria really understood. She wasn’t telling a Westerberg ghost story or urban legend. This was a real guy. A real guy that could be her dad.</p><p>“Nevermind,” she mumbled to her. “Look Buffy’s on.” She switched the channel. Theo got up and manually turned the TV off. The first time she’d ever done that.</p><p>“Tell me! Now!” She demanded.</p><p>“Aw jeez, Theo. It’s not- it’s not funny or crazy if it’s true. And like, you said your mom didn’t tell you yet…”<br/><br/>“Tell her now!” Josie demanded. “Or I’m telling mom about that pack of cigarettes under your mattress.” Gloria blanched.</p><p>“Fuck. Okay. But we’re just speculating, remember?” She bit her lip, suddenly really ashamed of her actions. She should have just kept the whole Year of Death stuff to herself.</p><p>“Please. I need to know.”</p><p>“We don’t know for sure that’s the same guy. There could have been more than one J. Dean in the class.” <em> Two guys named J. Dean that wore all black and were rebel outcasts. Yep. </em>She paused and looked at her kid sister’s friend. “Fuck, okay, yeah, it’s not a secret in this town. The last suicide was done by a kid named Jason Dean. He had taken a bomb, and gone to the center of the football field and-- well, kerplooey,” she said with empathy in her voice to Theo.</p><p>Theo looked down at the picture of her mom and dad unabashedly in love, his arm around her like she was all that mattered in life. She understood death. And she had watched enough TV and movies to understand the idea that sometimes people take their own lives. It was really sad when they did. But her dad? Suicide? In such a big way? At nine she couldn’t comprehend why a guy who looked at her mom like that would ever do that. Didn’t he have her to live for? Written on the back of the photo was <em> “JD and Veronica-- Our Love is God” </em>   afterall in a penmanship that wasn’t her mother’s. She wondered if he’d known mom was pregnant. It had never occurred to her to ask that until then, <em> did he even know about me? </em></p><p>“He killed himself?” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Josie realized her friend was upset. She realized that maybe this investigation had gone too far. She hated seeing her upset.  </p><p>“Like Gloria said Theo, we don’t know. We don’t,” Josie looked freaked. It was one thing to play at a Baby Sitters Club Mystery-- it was another to actually find yourself in one.</p><p>“I’ll get you the 1990 yearbook," Gloria told her. "They’re in the high school library. Maybe there’s a picture of him in there. We could totally be way off base.” Theo nodded. The door opened and they all jumped. Quickly Theo put the picture away. </p><p>“Say nothing!” She hissed to Gloria and Josie.</p><p>The next day after school Josie and Theo walked the fifteen minutes over to Westerberg and got into Gloria’s car. Theo was worried her mother would spot her but the parking lot was flooded with all the kids getting out of school. To their surprise Gloria’s friend Janice was in the front seat. Josie got mad at her sister. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Theo will get into a ton of trouble if her mother knows!”</p><p>“I tell Janice everything. She won’t tell anyone else. Swear Janice.”</p><p>“I won’t tell anyone I promise! Oh my god. I can’t believe Ms. Sawyer was dating one of the Year of Death kids. Can I see the picture of the two of them? He was gorgeous. Gloria told me in your picture it looks like he was obsessed with her or something.”<br/><br/>“Janice!” Gloria admonished her. “That’s her dad.”</p><p>“Sorry,” she said, guilty.</p><p>“So you got the yearbook?” Theo said carefully with little emotion. “So, then it’s true.” Gloria bit her tongue nervously before handing the yearbook back to Josie and Theo. </p><p>“Pages 25-28 are for the memorials,” Gloria told her quietly. Quickly they flipped the pages to the memorials at the end. There was a huge spread for Heather Chandler. On the left was her senior photo with a letter superimposed over it. The left side was a collage of different photos of her at school with friends.</p><p>“Oh my god, that’s your mom,” Josie pointed out. They awed at the picture of three very pretty and preppy girls with one dark haired girl a little apart from them. One of them did not really quite look like the other and that was her mom. The caption said, “Heather, Heather, Heather, and Veronica. BFF’s.” That was odd. She turned the page. One full page was for Kurt Kelly and the other was for Ram Sweeney. There were some action shots of them playing football and in the corner was the quote:<br/><br/>“<em>T</em><em>wo hearts, believing in just one mind<br/></em><em>Beating together till the end of time<br/></em><em>You know we're two hearts believing in just one mind<br/></em><em>Together forever till the end of time.”</em></p><p>
  <em> -Phil Collins (Two Hearts)</em>
</p><p>Theo then flipped to the final page. There wasn’t a lot going on in it. It was only half a page. Underneath it was an ad for the local dress shop to rent tuxes for the prom. Just one picture for this memorial. A very handsome boy leaned against a motorcycle staring intently at the person who was taking the picture. His arms were crossed, and one leg was in front of the other. Tears sprung to Theo’s eyes as she spotted a very particular crooked and charming smile on his face. Theo blinked some of those tears away. The photo was probably taken at the same time the one she had filched from her mom had. </p><p>              5. The fifth thing she learned about her dad was that his name was JD-- short for Jason Dean-- and he was the boy who blew himself up<br/>                   in the middle of the football field ending the infamous “Year of Death” at Westerberg High, leaving behind his girlfriend and daughter.</p><p>"No, dad... no," Theo whimpered as she let this last bit of information sink in. This must be why her mom wanted to wait until high school to tell her.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Meanwhile, back with Millie...</em> </strong>
</p><p>After all was said and done with Ms. Sawyer she left the strange ghost dude in her office staring at her guidance counselor like a lost puppy and cut for the rest of the day, scared. She had left that office as quickly as she could. <em>Oh god, no. What did I do? Am I going to have to move again? I have to talk to mom.</em></p><p>When the final bell rang she booked it. She ran out of the school passed all the other students so intent she was to get home and wasn’t looking when she nearly got swiped by a red Camry. It screeched to a halt and she startled. Millie blinked at the stunned faces inside. There were two teenagers and two younger kids in the car. The driver-- a girl she recognized from class named Gloria-- leaned out the window.</p><p>“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn't see you. You’re… Maisie, right? New kid?” Millie was still stunned. All she knew was she had to get back to her mother.</p><p>“Millie,” she corrected, anxious. “We’re in American History together. You have the Bouncing Souls pin on your bag, right?”</p><p>Gloria looked taken aback. “Yeah. Surprised. No one else around here knows about them. I’m sorry, normally we’d love to talk but I got my sister and her friend back here. And we're... we were talking about something.” Millie blinked at the two kids in the backseat. "I'm super sorry that I didn't see you!" Millie barely registered the near accident. </p><p>“I have to get home, quickly. Um, I’m sorry to ask but can you do me a huge favor and drop me off? Please.” Gloria was taken aback, surprised. The four kids in the car were in the middle of quite a huge revelation. But she did nearly run the poor girl over.</p><p>“Of course! Oh god, I nearly ran you over it's the least I can do. Everyone always bums rides when I have my mom's car. Where do you live?” There was whispering from the other passengers but they relented at Gloria's insistence. Millie gave her the address, as she quickly slid into the back seat with the two younger kids. The one girl with black hair looked... familiar. </p><p>“Oh wow. That’s not far from my sister’s friend’s apartment building so I’m going that way anyway."</p><p>"Thanks," Millie said, still spooked by the day's events. She turned to the girl with black hair. She was trying to not cry for some reason. Millie wasn't sure why but she empathized with the girl and said quite frankly, “Are you okay?" She asked.</p><p>"It's- we were just talking about something. I'm sorry. She's a little upset," Gloria said.</p><p>Millie stared at her intently. She never forgot a good pair of eyes... and her face and hair it was- "You look really familiar. Have I met you somewhere?” Theo shook her head., then she remembered.</p><p>“My mom works at the school." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "She has way too many pictures of me on her desk. It’s weird. A lot of students recognize me because of it.” Millie’s head started to click as the puzzle pieces came together.</p><p>“Your mom?”<br/><br/>“Yeah that’s Theo Sawyer. Her mom’s Ms. Sawyer. If you’re new you probably met her. She’s big into greeting the new kids. I had a bunch of appointments with her when I transferred in last year,” Gloria told her. "I have a bunch more with her this year. I don't know why."</p><p>Millie looked at the little girl with a curiosity. She noticed the photo in her hand. Janice turned to her in the back seat and saw Millie staring at the photo going sheet white.</p><p>“Oh my god! That’s her dad. It’s crazy we just realized her dad was-”</p><p>“Janice!” Gloria and her sister screamed.</p><p>"You swore!" Gloria's sister reprimanded her.</p><p>"I swore not to tell on her to her mom! Millie's not her mom!" Gloria hit her head in regret for bringing her blabbermouthed friend in on this. </p><p>"You can't tell anyone! At all!" Gloria corrected.</p><p>“Your dad?” Millie asked, ignoring the other drama. The hairs on the back of Millie's neck were prickling. Whatever ability allowed her to see the other world also gave her a heightened intuition often, almost like a Spider-sense.</p><p>“Yeah,” the girl said tentatively and sadly. “I found this picture my mom’s never shown me one. We were trying to figure out what happened to him." The girl shouldn't be telling Millie any of this, she realized. And Millie shouldn't be asking her. But she looked so upset and strangely Theo felt she should tell her.</p><p>“Can I?” Millie asked, scared. She was putting the pieces together in her head, slowly. She took the yearbook and the little girl’s photo and made the connection finally. Because, of course she would find herself in this car realizing these facts. Once she acknowledged one of these strange occurrences so to speak, it was near impossible to stay out of them. In the picture in the yearbook a seventeen year old boy in a trench coat, black pants, and a Blue Oyster Cult stared back at her. The picture was of that boy with his arms around an impossibly young Ms. Sawyer.</p><p>
  <em> Jason Dean </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 1972-1989 </em>
</p><p>Jason Dean. Her hands were shaking. <em> He said his name was JD. That must be short for... </em> She flipped the photo over. "<em>JD and Veronica-- Our Love is God." </em>It all made sense to Millie now. The little girl took the photos and yearbook back from her, eyeing her carefully. “What is it?” She asked, sensing something through her own upset state.</p><p>“Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry, I just really need to get home. I shouldn't have pried.”</p><p><em> What the hell did I get myself into? Why the hell did you talk to him?  </em>But she knew why. She felt sorry for them. Some kind of empathy inside of her always pulled her into it. She just didn't have it in her to ignore them. To ignore the evil all around. She felt sorry that there was no one else around to help them. She always hoped that if she helped them it would even out the scales of bad in this world. That it would put them at ease. Usually though it ended up with her being accused of mental illness, and her mother's dismay that they had to go.</p><p>Oh god, she looked at the girl as she realized her connection to the spirt. No wonder Ms. Sawyer freaked out when she told her that name, that expression. The ghost that followed her up from the boiler room was her ex: her daughter's father.</p><p>“How did he die?” She asked her unable to stop herself.</p><p>“He- he killed himself,” Theo choked on a sob. Millie’s heart broke in want to help the little girl, the want to tell her she had spoken briefly to him. <em> Oh god, what did I get myself into? </em></p><p>“We don’t know that! We don’t! This is all speculation Theo, okay?” The other girl said, worried about her friend. “Until your mom says it for sure we don’t know.”</p><p>“Josie…” Gloria said sympathetically. “I think we know.” Josie turned to Theo who was now shaking holding her picture.</p><p>“But why? Why would he-?”<br/><br/>“Theo, right?” Millie said. Theo nodded at the strange teen girl. “Theo, listen to me. Whatever you found out today, keep it to yourself, okay? Do not tell your mom, okay? This- this is all just-” Millie felt like she was drowning. It was always how she felt when she realized she was mixed up in something otherworldly. Just like at her last school when she saw the demon on that girl’s back.</p><p>“Are you all right?” Janice asked, concerned as Gloria pulled up to the address Millie had given her. The two teens and the two pre-teens looked at her scared and confused.</p><p>
  <em> Shit, shit, shit. </em>
</p><p>Millie got out of the car quickly. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. Thank you for the ride. Look, don’t worry. I’ll leave and all of this- all of this-" </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Gloria asked, not mad but concerned. The new girl looked like she was having some sort of fit. “Look, is your mom here? I don’t want to leave you like this. You look really-”</p><p>“Millicent!” Milly jumped. Only Aunt Maggie called her that. She tore out of the house in her gray long skirt and bland long sleeved polo shirt and grabbed Millie by the arm-- hard. Janice, Gloria, Josie, and Theo all jumped inside the car. “Who are these people?” She barked.</p><p>"Friends, from school,” she lied. Her and Janice and Gloria were mild acquaintances at best. “They gave me a ride home.”<br/><br/>“That wasn’t what you were wearing when you left the house. I know how your mom works. But we took your mother and you in with explicit-” Aunt Maggie saw the scared faces staring at the crazy lady.</p><p>"You dropped her off, now go," she told them. Gloria's heart broke. No wonder this girl was so upset and jittery.</p><p>At that moment, thankfully, Millie's mom’s station wagon pulled up and her mom-- a woman with fake blonde hair and long nails-- got out confused. “What’s going on?” She asked her sister, very tired. “Who are they?”</p><p>“They’re just going mom,” Millie said, her aunt let go of the grip on her arm. Gloria realized they needed to leave and started the ignition up.</p><p>“Yeah, see you tomorrow at school Millie. We're gonna talk. Okay? Really. Find me immediately. Bye.” Gloria realized something was up. She seemed to know something about the picture in Theo's hand. And the way she was acting... Gloria decided she needed to talk to her more. Just not now. Not with this scene at her home unfurling. She backed up and drove away.</p><p>Millie could hear her mother and aunt bickering around her about her. Well, also her Mom had forgotten to Febreze and she smelled like a cigarette. Millie’s clothes. Strange friends dropping her off. Her Aunt was livid. Millie knew the threat of a bible seminar camp to straighten her out wasn't far off her suggestion list.</p><p>None of that fazed Millie. Theo, sensing something was happening, something big, turned in the window and stared at her as the car rolled away. Millie stared back and couldn’t hear the static around her. Her mood had changed on a dime. Moments ago she was freaked but now her mind was suddenly clear. And Millie had a realization:</p><p><em> The ghost that talked to me today was Jason Dean. According to the yearbook he died. But the man that talked to her was not seventeen. He looked older. Like Ms. Sawyer’s age. </em> <em> Ghosts don’t age past the day they died. </em></p><p>She thought that at first it was cut and dry: this boy who killed himself won’t move on until he talks to his ex-girlfriend and the daughter he never knew. But that wasn’t the case.</p><p><em> He’s not a ghost. He can’t move on. He can’t move on because he’s not dead. </em> <em> Jason Dean is alive and trying to reach out to his ex... and the kid he probably doesn't even know about. </em></p><p>
  <em> Millie? What the fuck did you get yourself mixed up in? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter starts with what happened after Millie told Veronica that she'd seen JD. I, again, hope the POV hopping isn't confusing.</p><p>All right. Comments, kudos-- always welcomed as per usual.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. You a Big Joan Baez Fan?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we revisit a memory, catch up with Bud Dean's life, and finally return to Veronica's office after the bomb dropped.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter, particularly the last bit really kicked my ass. I'm trying really hard to keep the rules and continuity in order. Remember that whole "won't it be cool if every chapter was a BOC lyric" thing? Yeah, I'm abandoning that. LOL. I'll probably keep the original chapters titled as is though.</p><p>Song credits are to Bob Dylan for "Love is A Four-Lettered Word" (although he never recorded it and Joan Baez probably wrote the last verse) and "Diamonds and Rust" written by Joan Baez. Probably one of the best love songs of all time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Strange it is to be beside you<br/></em> <em>Many years the tables turned<br/></em> <em>You'd probably not believe me<br/></em> <em>If I told you all I've learned<br/></em> <em>And it is very, very weird indeed<br/></em> <em>To hear words like forever, fleets<br/></em> <em>Of ships run through my mind, I cannot cheat<br/></em> <em>It's like looking in the teacher's face complete<br/></em> <em>I can say nothing to you but repeat what I heard<br/></em> <em>That love is just a four-letter word</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>-Love is Just a Four-Letter Word (Lyrics by Bob Dylan, Performed by Joan Baez)</em> </strong>
</p><hr/><p><b>Sherwood, Ohio<br/></b> <b>September, 1989<br/></b> <b>Heather Chandler’s House<br/></b> <b>The morning of her death</b></p><p>Laughter flitted through the back porch or Heather Chandler’s glacial ten room two floor suburban home in Sherwood, Ohio. Veronica’s dad referred to the couple of block radius they were in as “the rich side of town” but by many richer or more closer to urban area suburban standards it probably wouldn’t have been that impressive.</p><p>Veronica Sawyer could care less at that moment about anything other than the giddy heady feeling she was experiencing as she giggled as Jason Dean-- her new boyfriend as of their consummation last night-- was pulling her back into his lean, long, strong arms to kiss her delicately and with his whole heart. They were both still giddy and high on new found infatuation that the passionate melding of their bodies the night before had created.</p><p>He had her pinned to the front door, placing sweet kisses on her neck as she laughed. He couldn’t get enough of her. “JD, stop, I have to go inside and do this really quickly.” He groaned, not wanting that to be the case. “I swear, after that I’m all yours,” she told him. <em> Mine. All mine. And I’m yours, </em>he thought to himself, giddy at the feel of her in his arms just as much as she was of being with him.</p><p>“Mmm,” he moaned against her neck. “You don’t ‘have’ to do anything. Other than this of course.” She laughed some more in between intermittent little mewls of pleasure. Instinctually she lifted her leg and began to wrap her knee around him. </p><p>“Hello,” a non-corporeal being, who was waiting around for the first act of his plan to begin said, surprised yet cautiously amused by the early arriving guests. They couldn’t see him, of course. The gnarled wispy beast was waiting in the kitchen of one Heather Chandler for his little pet project Heather Duke to show up. He had thought Miss Duke to be the the most logical choice for a human vessel to allow himself fully in the human world: she was vengeful, scared, a ball of anxiety with secrets she was petrified to have spilled and most importantly had a jealousy and lust for a power unmatched by any Westerberg had seen in years.</p><p>Plus, she would be a good toy for his little one Lucy to play with. Lucy used to love playing with girls like Heather Duke. “You’re not Ms. Duke,” he told the couple, curious. A quirk of a smile played on the being’s invisible lips as the girl turned her head and looked in his direction. His heart-- not that he really had one-- had stopped. He smelled it off her like roses on a bush: chaos. He adored chaos. <em> After all, chaos is what killed the dinosaurs. </em>He would know, he was there.</p><p>The dark haired girl in the blue blazer was now the only thing in his vision. “Who are you?” He whispered to himself, intrigued. He was floored by her ethereal beauty not just on the outside but on the in. Oh, but that soul. <em> You’re beauty in the flesh.... Light dancing on the wind… Perfection in- </em></p><p>“Come on, I won’t be long. Afterward, you can buy me breakfast, okay?” She told him coyly as she opened the kitchen door and entered, the young man in black with a long coat following her like a lost puppy willing to do anything for her attention. </p><p>“And by breakfast you mean we’ll go somewhere private where I can-” he pulled her close and whispered all sorts of delightfully flirtatious and dirty sexual musings in her ear. She blushed charmingly and giggled.</p><p>“Don’t make promises unless you plan on keeping them,” she told him back. He laughed.</p><p>Azazel reached his mind out to the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen to listen to the symphonic cacophony inside. </p><p><b> <em>A child’s</em> </b> <em> : Mommy! Daddy! Aren’t you proud? Straight a’s again! </em></p><p><b> <em>A teen’s</em> </b> <em> : I can’t disappoint my parents… Where do you get off hurting my friend?... Just because I’m friends with the Heathers doesn’t make me a Heather…I just want my high school to be a nice place… I just have to make nice with Heather and then everything will be okay… I can’t believe a hot guy I like likes me back... </em></p><p><b> <em>In the background of it all, whispering</em> </b> <em> : Before I die I want to see Heather Chandler puke her guts out... </em></p><p>“Who might you be?” Azazel asked, in awe. “Intelligence, wit, a sharpness of character and… a soul on both sides of the spectrum with a chaotic charm. One that wants lightness in the world, but can go just as dark too. An unknown quotient.” Azazel was millions of years old at this point, trapped in between realms and… suddenly found himself as giddy in love with this girl as the seventeen year old boy whose lips had been dancing over her soft skin was.</p><p>“Heather!” She called. “It’s Veronica!” She intoned. “I’m here to apologize.” The boy started looking around the kitchen. </p><p><em> Veronica. Veronica. Veronica. </em>Azazel let the name roll off his tongue like water hitting the rocks.</p><p>He loved souls like hers, the conflicted ones. They had the capability to go any which way the wind blew. They had the potential for either side of the pendulum. But she- she was different from his usual claimants. She- Azazel didn’t fall often, but when he did he fell hard. Shouldn’t be too difficult to rid himself of his competition-</p><p>“My dad taught me all kinds of stuff,” the boy told her in a light tone, but it was anything but as they whipped up some concoction to cure a hangover that didn’t even really work.</p><p>“Wait<em>.</em>” Something cried out to him. “Who are you?” He asked, curiously. He reached out his mind and nearly floored himself. <em>Jason Dean. JD. </em>He laughed, surprised. “Why, hello compañero.” His mind was louder than any he’d ever heard before. It was dizzying to the being.</p><p><strong>A child’s voice, crying</strong> <em> : Mommy why’d you leave me…?  </em></p><p><b> <em>A teen’s</em> </b> <em> : dad you cruel bastard- you killed her!… fucking moving again?!... God, same school, same assholes...Heather Chandler is one bitch that deserves to die.... </em></p><p><b> <em>The loudest of all</em> </b> <em> : Veronica Sawyer, I’ll love you till the day I die. Even after that. </em></p><p>The feelings were a rush and it nearly floored him.</p><p>
  <em> I think I found the most perfect of all vessels. Tall, good looking, strong, teeming with a volatile emotional roller coaster-- how did I miss it? I thought Duke was the best choice for that?-- and it comes with built-in privileges to this gorgeous dark haired creature. </em>
</p><p>He simply sat back and watched the events go down like he was at the best picture show. He wished he had popcorn. The drama was delicious.</p><p>“I’m a no-rust build up man myself,” he told her with a cocky grin, holding the drain cleaner, as they were preparing the breakfast concoction.</p><p>“Don’t be a dick, that stuff’ll kill her,” she told him, choosing the goodness, even if she felt tugged to agree with him.</p><p>“Thus ending her hangover.” They bantered until finally-</p><p>“You’re not funny,” she told him, mildly upset. He realized his joke had gone too far and looked at her with genuine eyes of contrition.</p><p>“Hey, come here. I’m sorry, okay?” He put down the mug. He looked at her and she was entranced. <em> How do you mesmerize this creature of beauty so masterfully? </em> She slipped her arm around his neck and brought him down to kiss. His arms encircled her waist and-</p><p>“Veronica!” The queen bitch screamed, breaking them up.</p><p><em> How dare you talk to her like that! Don’t you know how special she is?! </em>Azazel was shocked, the boy had thought that at the same thing as him. They were almost simpatico on the protection of her. Veronica sighed and grabbed the cup… with the drain cleaner.</p><p>
  <em> This… is an unexpected twist. </em>
</p><p>“Veronica! Wait!” The boy called. Azazel frowned. <em> Pity.  </em>She turned back to him. “Yes?”</p><p>He mildly hesitated before deciding.<em> Maybe I’ll just whisper- </em> “Good luck,” he told her.</p><p>Azazel blinked, admiration and earnest love for this vessel now in full bloom. <em> He didn’t even need to be pushed. And his need to protect her is as strong as my own. </em>True, it was a baby step. He’d need to control him to fully accomplish his goal but that moment was like the magic of seeing the prettiest pair of shoes at the store and having them fit like butter. </p><p>When all was said and done, Azazel stared at the dead body of Heather Chandler in a mix of delight and fascination. His little Bonnie and Clyde having just fled the scene of the crime. He stretched his body. He could now interact with the world. The energy released in the act of killing this girl had started the process. Soon he'd be able to take start influencing his vessel and be invited in. “Well, not the plan exactly,” he told the dead corpse of the queen of her high school. “But the results are the same.” He delicately picked up the note and smiled. <em> Sweet Veronica. What an unexpected joy. </em></p><p>The body of Heather Chandler sat up quickly, her hair eschew and lips stained blue. “Yuck,” she spit on the carpet. “Drain cleaner? Seriously. I thought you said it would be rat poison. I would have preferred that. It doesn’t stain the lips.” She stretched her arms, trying to get a feel for this vessel the act of murder had allowed her to travel into. “But those two?” She told him a bit testy. “I thought you were getting that cute red head to do it? The angry anxiety ridden one that’s vomiting because she’s convinced she’s fat and epically failing to suppress her sexual attraction to women?” She pouted. “The two of us would have been a pretty pair, like a new Leopold and Loeb. I wanted to dick around with her, not James Dean and Natalie Wood over there,” she whined.</p><p>“The plan, it seems, is taking on a life of its own. Like the universe wanted it this way,” he said dreamily. “Like it wanted me to be with that beauty,” he mused. Heather Chandler’s eyes with their new occupant blinked.</p><p>“Oh. You’re in love with the rebel’s gun moll, are you?” She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little hurt and jealous. Their relationship was more protectorate than romantic, but she hated any and all competition to his affection. She was his beloved pet. She was number one.</p><p>“She’s as sweet as real chaos,” he whispered.</p><p>Oh, she didn't like the sound of this one bit. Lucy Tennembaum had struck a deal and pledged her eternal soul to him, after all. That was commitment, she believed. She looked down at the package she had received. Because of this gift of Heather Chandler she would be able to shift into this form her whole life now, age it, de-age it… her powers were quite flexible in shape form. She could be any of her vessels, if she wanted to. She peered in the large vanity mirror and took it all in.</p><p><em> Holy fuck, I’m perfect! </em>She touched the blond curls and the blemish free face. Without a care she opened the robe to glance down and check- Oh yes, she saw, they were a perfect pair. She could be whatever she wanted with this one. She briefly tried on a slew of ages before returning to classic form.</p><p>She admired it all greatly. This was a form she could get used to. </p><p>Azazel didn’t notice. He stared at the note Veronica had churned out in a few quick moments, using his new ability to interact he picked it up and read it over and over. It was good, better than anything he could plan himself. Azazel walked around the red room with flowers, hearts and all the trappings of a young lady who lived a life of absolute privilege and adoration. The grief and turbulence that would come at Westerberg from her death was just the right amount of emotion needed for him to finally break free. <em> And the note! This note will set the place into a frenzy! </em></p><p>“She’s perfect,” he told her, as he saw a picture of his Veronica with this Heather Chandler and pocketed it, reverently. He placed the note back where it was. “Someone will be discovering the body soon Lucy. Please lay back down.”</p><p>Lucy, in Heather Chandler’s body, looked around the room. “Wait. What year is it?” She asked, confused. Time… was meaningless in the nether. All she had been able to get for information since her last time on earth was the outline of her master’s plan. He had not even thought to prime her on how much had changed since she left. </p><p>She saw the CD player instead of a record player and the mini TV looked different than the sets she recalled. She stared down at the red kimono. “How long since-?”</p><p>“Twenty-nine years I’m afraid. I apologize, it took that long for another girl like Debbie Warren to come to Westerberg. There were other loved girls, but not one with the kind of power and energy to cause a wave of destruction with their death.”</p><p>“Heather Chandler. This body is Heather Chandler.” She looked around and stared curiously at the Diet Coke can on her mantle. <em> Coca-Cola I remember. </em>She stood up and paced the room taking in Miss Chandler’s life. They both started when they heard the door open again.</p><p>“Heather?” A voice called.</p><p>“And that would be Miss Duke. I nearly forgot. Oh well, the shock of her seeing your corpse will be some good fun, won’t it? The cops won’t be too long I suspect. Just hang in until the funeral. It should take that long for your powers to return fully.” The girl continued to stare around her at all the products and trappings now available to a privileged girl in less than thirty years. Curiously she picked up a circular tray.</p><p>“What is this?” She asked, seeing the pills lined up with days of the week.</p><p>“Hmm? Birth control I suspect.” Her eyes went wide. “All the girls take it now. I’m afraid you missed the sexual revolution.”</p><p>“Oh. Was it worth it?”<br/><br/>“Mixed bag. Women aren’t bound to their bodies, but men get to tell a girl she’s a prude if she doesn’t want to sleep with them and they believe them and the other women enforce it.” She rolled Heather’s eyes, happy they did it so pleasingly.</p><p>“Of course they do. It’s like with most things I suppose. Two steps forward, one step back.” She put it down, eying the cosmetics, the college applications, the clothes, and the jewelry this girl had. She suddenly realized the whole damn world changed in thirty years and she had missed it.</p><p>“After Miss Duke leaves, watch the TV and get acquainted with your new form. It’ll be a spell before her parents or the cops arrive. After the funeral there’s still work to do my sweet, so take it in.” She was staring at the Cosmo magazine wide-eyed, not really listening. <em> This is a whole different world. </em> “Lucy? Luce?”</p><p>“It isn’t Lucy anymore. It will never be Lucy again. It’s a new world. Ekoc Tied,” she whispered, holding the empty soda can. “Call me Ekoc Tied.” </p><p>“Seriously? Diet Coke backwards?”</p><p>She smiled. “Oh, cuz Azazel is so hip. Is Zazzy okay from now on?”</p><p>“Luce<em> ,” </em>he warned like a father scolding his little girl.</p><p>She winked at him. “Come on, try it out!” She said, glancing in a copy of Cosmo on the girl’s nightstand with big eyes. "Like it says: ‘Just for the taste of it!’” She laughed, holding up the diet soda ad.</p><p>“Heather?” A feminine voice called. The knock came. Quickly, Ekoc went back into her position, awaiting the approach of Heather Duke.</p><hr/><p><b>Chicago, Il<br/></b> <b>July, 1999</b></p><p>Bud Dean was in Chicago, sitting at a bar. It wasn’t a dive, but not really a four star and situated close to the commuter train station. He knew a lot about bars at this point in his life and knew enough to know that the few patrons currently occupying the bar were probably commuters. They came in after work and had one or two but left early to get back to their suburban homes before the wife got mad. He liked bars like that, not a lot of carousing, friendly but distant bartender, and the game was usually on the TV. Not that he was paying attention too much to it today. After all, he was sure the Cubs would fuck it up.</p><p>He had just gotten his annual letter and wanted to savor it.</p><p>
  <em> June 30, 1999 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hi, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So, here Theo is-- nine years old today! Crazy. It’s been going by just so quickly. You’ll see her school pictures, and a couple of ones from our weekend trip to the lake right after school got out. She really loves it up there. </em>
</p><p>Bud sifted through them. She was wearing a blue dress and had her legs crossed, her hands linked over her knee, smiling. She looked an awful lot like her mother with her dark hair, save the eyes. Theo definitely had his son’s hazel eyes, which in turn had been his wife’s. He stared at the little girl trying not to dwell on the pain of both their loss.</p><p><em> The positive </em> , he reminded himself, <em> his granddaughter was the positive </em>. He touched the photo carefully. Jason and Veronica had certainly made a pretty child. The other photo was of Veronica and Theo at the beach of a lake somewhere up north from where they lived. There were a couple of others from her birthday party.</p><p>
  <em> She really liked the inline skates, her friends were all jealous. Really though, stuff like that can be a bit much, you’re not obligated to send things that pricey. </em>
</p><p>He brushed that off. He wasn’t made of money, sure, but other than her support check he didn’t have many financial obligations at this point in his life and career. His business had only grown more solvent in his later years. His accountant had even told him he might think about reallocating primary duties in order to take an early retirement.</p><p>“Hey, why not? You’ll get to spend some more time in Ohio with that grandkid you have all those pictures up of.” Bud told him he’d think about it. He’d also never had the nerve to properly explain the nature of his relationship with the girl and her mother. It wasn’t easy to explain to people that he had never actually met his son’s daughter. And if he were honest with himself it was because he was too scared to. </p><p>
  <em> They’re a little big but that’s fine. She can wear heavy socks in them and she won’t outgrow them quickly. It’s good for her too, she needs more outdoor time. It will be a little trial and error before she can skate well on them, but she doesn’t give up easily. She had a great party with several of her friends from school and her Girl Scout Troop. She really does well in the Scouts...  </em>
</p><p>He stared at her birthday photo. She was in front of a cake with a wide smile wearing a small beaded necklace over a blue and white striped sundress, a few teeth missing in her wide smile.</p><p><b>Texas, 1981<br/></b> <b>Dean Residence<br/><br/></b> <b></b></p><p>“Bud! Get the camera ready. Val’s bringing out the cake!” One of the other adults shouted at him. Jason was turning nine at this party and it was like Star Wars had exploded everywhere. Napkins, plates, his wife had even tried to write ‘Happy Birthday Jason!’ in the Star Wars font on the cake.</p><p>Bud was on his sixth Lonestar of the day, and had even snuck in a couple of fun “adults at the birthday party” shots of tequila with a couple of the dad’s that hung around on the side watching the kids run around the party. His wife was doing all the work, and if he had been more self aware at the time he’d know she was pissed at him for making her take care of all of it as he got steadily drunk at his son’s 9th birthday party in their backyard.</p><p>He fumbled with his camera-- his one job of the party-- as his wife brought the cake out for Jason to extinguish the candles on. They came out blurry, and with his thumb heavily obscuring them. </p><p>The next week when she got the pictures back she was all set to put them in one of her albums. Flipping through she saw that all of them were terrible, and unusable-- because he’d been too drunk to even take a photo. She, understandably, got mad at him. Val loved her pictures.</p><p>He got into a rip roaring fight with her with the highest concentration of anger and alcohol fueling it. It was the worst one he’d ever had with her. He grabbed her and pushed her a few times. She was right about everything she accused him of. She was right but he couldn’t admit to it. Hitting her truthfulness was the fucked up way he had of denying his own dreadful flaws as both husband and father. </p><p>At one point he spotted Jason in the hallway watching in horror at the display, woken up probably by the fighting. The child looked in wide eyed horror as his mother fell on the ground with a thud. His dad had just violently shoved her down and she was now gasping between tears. “Go back to your room, now!” She gasped at him in between her sobs. “Go to your room and lock your door,” she instructed him. He was just a kid though, and frozen in horror.</p><p>“What? Why not let him see it all? Huh Jason?” He barked in his six year old son’s face. Jason didn’t move, and as Bud was about to grab his son he saw a water stain appear on the crotch of his pajama bottoms and a trickle of piss land on the floor. “Fucking-- dumbass kid! Look what you did!” He went to lunge for him as his wife in panic leapt forward and grabbed his leg tripping him.</p><p>“Your room!” She ordered her son. “Lock the door!” His feet went this time, following his mother’s command. </p><p><b>Chicago, Il<br/></b> <b>July, 1999</b></p><p>Bud looked at the brown liquid in the cup. About half of the ice cubes had melted and he swirled what remained in the cup, keeping his memory at bay. He took a small sip. That never really did the trick to erase them, though, try as he might. And lord did he ever try. He fully hated the man he had been, the one he knew was still inside of him. He had never been that bad before, nor since. He still had no idea what had set him off that night. His frustrations at his own failures? Anger? The booze? All of it probably. Eight months later his wife had walked into a library he was about to demolish and ended her life. It was finished between him and his son after that even though he had tried to lie to him and tell him it was all an accident. His son wasn’t stupid.</p><p>He never flew into the same rage he had that one awful night again but the knowledge he was capable of it, as well as knowing what it had to do with his wife’s death, combined with him having pushed the button was enough to have terminated any hope of them having any relationship. He hadn’t even thought about Jason. He moved his son around not even thinking about what that would do to him and his already increasingly withdrawn behavior he should have paid more attention to but didn’t. Bud Dean had been selfish. His guilt and demons never allowed him to have a home and because of that he had never allowed his son to have one either. All of that contributed to his son’s own demons. He had contributed to them. Bud was painfully aware that his decision to strap a bomb to his chest was not coincidental. <em> What the hell had I been thinking allowing him access to that shit?  </em></p><p>He sipped his whiskey in front of him. He hated remembering that night and all he had done to his wife and his son but his shrink had told him he had to if he didn’t want to fall completely apart and truly change. A shrink. It still stunned him. But a crewman of his had insisted three years ago when he hadn’t shown up to work for five straight days and found him alone in his dirty one room apartment during the worst bender of his life weeping over the pictures of his dead wife, dead son, and the granddaughter he kept as far away from as he could surrounded by three trash bags worth of whisky bottles and beer cans. </p><p>His crewman Julio-- to his surprise-- listened patiently to his entire sob story. When it was over the young man-- god, he realized he was the same age Jason would have been if he had lived-- showed him the picture of Veronica and Theo. It was the Sears portrait studio style one. It was the two of them together, happy. He reminded him point blank that they were alive and needed him financially, at the very least. Not only them but the rest of his crew relied on his business to feed their families too. So he needed to pull himself together and run his business five days a week. He also gave Bud a card for a doctor to talk to. They had never spoken of it again once he pulled himself together enough to go back to work and he started his sessions. Julio was now one of his most trusted foremen.</p><p>It was now nine years since his son left him the same way his wife had-- literally and figuratively-- and he wasn’t completely sober yet. He wondered if he’d ever be able to leave it behind completely. The anger and the violence though was pretty much gone. It was replaced mostly with grief at this point, sadness, and a profound sense of loneliness. A loneliness that he was well aware that he had created for himself but a loneliness nonetheless. There were some days he’d wake up alone in his one room apartment and remember that at one point he had a wife, a son, and a house. Now he had none of that.</p><p>This little girl just sounded so wonderful though from the letters Veronica sent. </p><p>
  <em> Here’s a copy of her report card. I don’t know if that interests you, but she just does so well. She’s very smart and creative. A bit too much sometimes according to her teacher. As you can see “she is given to exaggerating stories and wild melodramatic turns.” I don’t know, I don’t think that’s the worst thing but the teacher says it can be disruptive. </em>
</p><p>He smiled. The girl was funny, kind, sharp, and full of life. <em> She’s nine already, </em> he realized. <em> She’ll be ten next June. She’ll be grown up before I know it. Will I have the courage then? When she’s too old for me to screw up terribly?  </em>He finished his whisky and asked for a second one from the bartender. The letters reminded him so much of Jason at that age. His son had been smart and full of life before-</p><p>Before his mother took her life. Before he sucked what life his own child had inside of him clean out. <em> Fuck, </em>he thought. Just looking at the girl sometimes could conjure up memories of the child Jason had been before Bud destroyed him. He reminded himself constantly that this was why it was best he stayed out of his granddaughter's life. Every time he got lonely and started writing a letter. Every time he picked up the phone thinking it was time to call he remembered: he was complicit in his wife’s suicide as well as his son’s. His therapist could tell him all he wanted that he needed to move on from the blame and the guilt and that if he wanted to reach out to the girl he should, but he knew that to be always true. And this bright little girl would never suffer for one minute because of him.</p><p>His sessions had helped with a lot of this. He even drank significantly less these days, trying to limit it. He was older now and the hangovers were getting worse-- as was his health-- but he could go a week or two without it-- his record was three months. He remembered the first taste of whisky after that dry spell and the guilt of drinking it that accompanied it. His doctor wanted him to quit entirely for his health-- both physical and mental-- sake and he knew eventually he'd make that step. He had stared contemplatively at some fliers for local meetings but tonight was not that night. He continued to sip the whisky and read the new facts about the wonderful little girl in the photo his son never got to meet. </p><p>He picked up and stared at the photo of Veronica and Theo sitting at the lakefront on a beach towel. Veronica had her arms around the little girl and in a fit of sheer fantasy wishing he tried to put his son into the family picture-- Jason’s arms wrapped around a wife and daughter. <em> It’s a shame, he would probably have been a better father than I was. They would have made him happy. </em></p><p>He should try and stop after one more drink, he could already feel the tug of wallowing pull him into a hole of regret. </p><p>
  <em> That’s all for this year. Thank you again for the support. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Veronica </em>
</p><p>He knew she meant the money by “support.” Writing a check was about as good as he got when it came to parenting or helping he supposed. He swirled the brown liquid and finished. The bartender asked if he wanted another. He should pay up but he nodded anyway.</p><p>“Cute kid,” a feminine voice interrupted ruminations during the second time reading the letter. He turned and saw a leggy blond with soft curls in her late 30s suddenly right next to him swirling a red plastic straw in a tall glass filled with a cosmo. “Is she yours? Is that your wife?”</p><p>“My granddaughter and her mother,” he clarified, as usual protective of the pictures of her. They were the small window he got into her life and he kept every single one of them. Framed a few too. He even kept a few in his office at work and hung up in his home. </p><p>“Wow. I never would have guessed it. You can not be old enough to be a grandpa,” she laughed. He side-eyed her, not sure what her game was. True, he was only 52 but he knew he looked it, if not worse from the years of admittedly bad habits</p><p>“Well, I am.”</p><p>“Is that your daughter then?” She asked, pointing at Veronica.</p><p>“No, uh, she’s my, uh…” what was his relationship to the girl his son was infatuated with that he got pregnant before he had a psychotic break and killed himself? “My son never got to marry her before he passed.” He always wondered if that would have happened. Albeit, they were awfully young and maybe Veronica’s decision to keep the child would have been different under other circumstances but still… he remembered the few times he had seen them together. They were utterly infatuated with each other. He’d never seen his son bring a friend over, so much as a girlfriend. And the few times he’d been home when they were there he heard him laughing. He only remembered because it had startled him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his son’s laugh in his house. He rather hoped that in the end someone had given him some love. Even if it hadn’t been enough to keep him from going over the ledge.</p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” He waved her away accepting the apology, hoping her embarrassment over the faux paux would leave him back to his whiskey and longing. She just smiled instead. “Let me buy you a drink to make up for it.” He turned and looked at her shocked. She smiled flirtatiously and slid into the bar stool next to him. She crossed her legs on it and slightly lifted one up to show off her legs in the nylons and pencil skirt she had on.</p><p>It wasn’t as if he’d been celibate in the years he’d been a widower but it was rare indeed to have a slightly younger woman-- and a fairly sober one at that-- make a pass at him. She smiled and reached her hand out. “My name’s Heather. Heather Jameson,” she told him.</p><p>A few hours later they were at his apartment door. “Um, give me a second okay?” He told her. <em> This shouldn’t be happening. </em>His fingers shook not just from the booze in his system but the nerves of bringing a woman back to his crappy small apartment. It had been a long time for him. And he was still stunned she had approached him at all. He got the door open and took her hand and led her in.</p><p>“So, this is your place?” She asked, looking around. “Cozy.” She eyed it all very carefully. It was very small and spartan. There was a recliner and a tv stand holding his TV and a stack of records on a table next to his old turnstile. Bud went over to a small liquor cabinet and got two glasses out.</p><p>“Well, you know. Just myself. I’m not picky.” Too many years of moving around he had lost the knowledge of how to plant roots or nest. He poured two shots of Maker's Mark into the cups. She picked up a record on the stack. “You a big Joan Baez fan, Bud?” She asked, surprised to see it.</p><p>He coughed. He wasn’t, but his wife had been. “She’s alright,” he told her, not wanting to focus on it. He handed her the glass and she took a small sip. She put the player on, slid the record out of the sleeve and placed it carefully on the turntable. She plopped the needle down. “Love is a Four-Lettered Word” started playing. He was spooked. It was one of his wife’s favorite songs. She’d hum it to herself as she fussed around the house.</p><p>His eyes slanted at her, unsure now if taking her back to his place had been a good decision. He was usually never that reckless, but he had been lonely and drinking yes, but not shit-faced enough for that kind of bad decision. She moved to a shelf on the opposite wall. She eyed the pictures on it carefully. </p><p>The first was of his late wife. It was taken sometime in the 70’s before she was pregnant. She was young-- barely 21 when they married-- and had very long brown hair that she kept long and natural, parted down the middle like a folk singer and she was smiling in her white and gold long bell sleeved mini-dress. She moved down the line to a picture of his son. He had been fifteen. It had the black letters “SAMPLE” stamped across it. It was the most recent photo he had had of him. It was just his face and upper torso and he wasn’t smiling, his hair the usual mess he always kept it, black shirt-- they probably forced him to take that coat of his off. He had been a handsome boy though, but the sadness permeated even the school photo he clearly didn’t want to have taken. He’d actually been at school for picture day that year. He came home the next week with the samples and tossed them in the trash assuming his father didn’t want to order any. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to keep one of the sample ones though. He was glad now. It was all he had of the last few years of his life. </p><p>She held onto the picture for a little longer than he thought necessary and touched his face in it before returning it.</p><p>She picked up the next two and darted her eyes back and forth, both family portraits. The first was of himself, his wife, and Jason at their house in Galveston in 1980, a year before she had walked into the library. They were all smiling but he couldn’t remember if they were really happy or if they were just pretending for the camera. Either way it was the last one of the three of them all together he possessed. They stood next to each other and his hands were on his son’s shoulders. Her hair was flying in her eyes and she was reaching to fix it. The other was a Sears portrait photo of Theo and Veronica she had sent a few years ago. It wasn’t the most recent and he was about to replace it but it was his favorite of them. It was the one that had saved him from drinking himself to death years ago. They looked so happy in it. His granddaughter. </p><p>Heather put his own family portrait down and focused on the one of his granddaughter and her mother. She gently touched both their faces and gave it an unreadable look.</p><p>“You’re a fascinating man Mr. Dean.” He stared at her very confused. He had thought she was coming back to have intercourse with him and his body was still reacting to that. He had no idea what was happening now. She put the picture of Veronica and Theo in her purse. He was about to say something when she dropped her bomb on him. “Jason will be back soon. My master has seen to it. He needs him back in order to reclaim what’s his. Your son was always his favorite vessel.” She chuckled to herself lightly. “And I am <em> nothing </em>if not a faithful servant to my master. Like you to yours I suppose.” She held the glass up in salute and polished the rest of the drink off. She turned back to him and grinned broadly and sweetly. </p><p>He went to the door and opened it to make sure she got out. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re on right now but that’s a crossed line. Give me that picture and get out of here. Now!” He reached for his photo but she just smiled. She squinted her eyes and the door slipped out of his hands and slammed shut. He yelped in pain. “What the hell?”</p><p>“Good choice of words,” she laughed. A force knocked into him sending him flying and he was on his recliner, stuck in place.</p><p>“What are you doing? I’m going to call the cops! What the-” He tried in vain to move his arms. Panic gripped him as he couldn’t fight back or move.</p><p>“Sh… Mr. Dean. Time to shush now.” His eyes filled with panic, his mouth wouldn’t open. He couldn’t move. Tears began to edge out of the corners of his eyes. She moved towards him. “My name isn’t Heather,” she told him as if she were a little kid being caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Though I'm rather fond of it. But yes, Heather is a deception. My apologies." She walked towards him, her smile predatory as if her teeth were sharp, her eyes now gleaming red. "I actually admired your work. You knew how to torture and destroy a person without any demonic intervention at all. That is a skill. One I admire. I should introduce myself: Ekoc. Ekoc Teid. I go by ET sometimes… I did like the way your son styled himself with initials like that and I always believe in phoning home. It’s very cool, you know.” She smiled, a memory of being in a girl’s bathroom surrounded by beautiful, popular princess in bell dresses of silk and taffeta flitted across her mind and she smiled. <em> One of the cool kids. The bright young things. </em></p><p>She laughed as Bud Dean stared at her in horror. “Wow. You really did think I was going back to your place to fuck you, didn’t you?” Her chest shook in laughter. “Sorry love, not my type. I’m just here to get some things from you and give you a task.” His eyes narrowed, very confused. “We’ve already begun the process to get your son back to life… we just need… a few more things.” She started taking the photos and records.</p><p>“He can’t be alive. He-”<br/><br/>“Lit one of your firecrackers under his ass and blew himself to bits like Wile E Coyote?” She made a disgruntled grunt with her throat. “Yes, he did that, didn't he?” She said bitterly. Made quite a mess for her to clean up. “He tried to get away from us, save the girl like he was some big hero. But, I got to him first. He certainly wasn’t going to kill himself and Zaz.” She started to bounce back and forth to the music. “The time is about right and now, I’m going to bring both of them back.” She carefully stroked his face. </p><p>“You can do that?” Bud asked, his hopefulness at the prospect of his son alive again was palpable.</p><p>The blond girl smiled and reached her fingers out as she gently parted his thinning gray hair. <em> It was once dark brown like his son’s, </em> she thought. <em> They really did look so similar. </em>After a moment a white light jutted from her fingers and a scream of agony pierced loudly from Bud Dean’s throat.</p><p>“Oh! Oh my God!” She laughed to herself as she skimmed his thoughts and emotions, sucking them up like a slushie. “That actually excites you! You… miss him? Wow!” She exclaimed, generally shocked. “You treated his mother like a punching bag, ignored him, and caused nothing but pain and anguish his whole life but now that you’re old and lonely and pining after your little granddaughter you want him back?” She laughed. “Oh babycakes...” She laughed some more. “You had a pretty wife and son once and you actively chose to fuck it all up-- no demonic intervention required. You don’t get that pretty little grandbaby. My master may have been an actual demon that infected your son, but you’ll always be the real monster haunting Jason’s life. Now… here’s what you’re going to do for me.”</p><hr/><p><b> <em>Well, I'll be damned</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>Here comes your ghost again</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>But that's not unusual</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>It's just that the moon is full</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>And you happened to call</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>And here I sit</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>Hand on the telephone</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>Hearing a voice I'd known</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>A couple of light years ago</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>Heading straight for a fall</em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em>As I remember your eyes…</em> </b></p><p>
  <b>-Joan Baez (Diamond and Rust)</b>
</p><hr/><p><b>Sherwood, Ohio</b> <b><br/></b> <b>September, 1989</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Veronica’s Sawyers Office, Her Meeting With Millie</b></p><p>"He said his name's JD and he needs your help. He told me to tell you, 'our love is God.'"</p><p>Veronica started, not even aware of the swear word she had just used in front of a student. “Tell me right now,” Veronica said, her voice shaking. “Where did you hear that name? That phase?” Her entire demeanor changed in a heartbeat. The once cool, compassionate, and interested counselor suddenly looked cold and pale. She quickly placed the photos of her daughter face down on her desk as if she were listening to this bonkers counseling session. “Tell me! Who told you that name?”</p><p>Millie instantly regretted saying anything. <em> Act more normal. </em> That’s what her mom always told her. <em> Why can’t I just do it? I try. I really try. Shit, we’ll be moving again soon... </em></p><p>“I- I-” Millie started, unsure how to proceed. JD was now looking at Veronica with such unbridled heartache.</p><p>“Veronica… please,” he begged her.</p><p>“Millie?” Veronica asked, trying to collect herself and focus on the troubled student in front of her instead of her own troubled past. “Millie, please. Are you okay? I don’t mean this is a bad way but… are you on any medication right now? Seeing a doctor? I’m not judging you and I won’t disclose it but I need to know.” Millie was shaking now. “I’m not mad,” Veronica told her with a strange strained scared cadence to her voice. “What you just said, it was very, um, personal- I-I just need to know who put you up to this. You’re new, I’m sure you didn’t know. Was it another student? Was it a teacher or school staffer gossiping? I need to know Millie. Please.” She needed to know who got their jollies scaring her like this and who was cruel enough to be talking about it with a student. <em> No one but me knew that phrase hough. </em> Cold rushed through her veins.</p><p>“I- he just said he needed your help and his name was JD. That’s all. I gave you the message so the both of you can leave me alone!” She shouted as she grabbed her bag and stormed out of the office. She was just happy the ghost was too busy looking forlornly at Veronica to follow her.</p><p>JD didn’t mean to freak the girl out but he was scared and so confused. He had sparse memories of the last ten years and some demonic claimants down in the boiler room.</p><p>And, after all, he never did know how to keep his head around Veronica in general. He couldn’t believe she was there, in this office, mere feet away from him. He wanted to scream, to shout, beg her to help him, beg her forgive-</p><p><em> Forgiveness </em> . He winced. <em> Oh god, you’re the last person she’d want to see. </em> His last memory of her was her tears in her eyes as-</p><p>As he took the bomb he-- was it him or they?-- had made out of her arms so that she wouldn’t sacrifice herself due to his--possession? Madness? It was all so confusing. He could barely recall making the bomb, planting it. He remembered feeling like he was a prisoner in his own mind, like something else controlled it. Something-</p><p>
  <em> Azazel.  </em>
</p><p>That thing that had brought him back in the boiler room. He loved her as much as JD did, he recalled, frightened. He had made everything so crystal clear in his mind-- his madness became sanity under his guidance. He told him what he needed to do to keep her. But it wasn’t what he wanted- Now, his head was a jumbled confusion. The demon had wanted to blow the school up, take his body, make Veronica his and-</p><p>And what? <em> What had been his endgame? </em>All JD remembered was seeing her with that bomb, looking exactly like his mother did that day in Texas. The memories were coming to him in small chunks. He remembered telling her she had to live, she had to fix things. When she had shot him it had allowed him to push his own personality as the dominant one. She had shot him and he needed to rid this world of both himself and the demon that he had transformed into: the figurative one as well as the literal being of hell. They were going to go down together. Only, they didn’t. He was taken… elsewhere.</p><p>He stared back at her. <em> Veronica. </em> It had been ten years but there she was <em> . </em>Currently she was shaking as she watched Millie tear out of the guidance office and out of her eyesight. </p><p><em> I should follow her, </em>Veronica thought. But she was too freaked to do so. She just closed her door and started to pace. “How the hell did she know that? How the- fuck!” JD noticed her hands shake as she wrung them, worried. He wished he could reach out and touch her to calm her-- she’d told him once at the beginning that his arms were the safest place she felt-- but of course he couldn’t for many reasons. His arms just slipped translucently through her when he reached for her. She shivered in response, darting her head back and forth as if looking for his presence in the room.</p><p>“I’m here. Veronica, please,” he told her, but of course she couldn’t hear him.</p><p>Finally she sat back down at her desk and breathed in and out, her head in her hands. She picked up the file of the girl and then the phone. She dialed a number and waited for it to pick up.</p><p>“<em> Visual Difference </em>, how can I help you?” A bored girl answered.</p><p>“I’m looking for a Judy Walker that works there. Is she available?”</p><p>“She’s with a client, actually. Did you want to make an appointment?”</p><p>“Uh, no. My name is Ms. Veronica Sawyer, I’m calling from the school her daughter attends.”</p><p>“Oh! Is she okay? Is it an emergency? Hey Jude! Jude! It’s the school for you!” She called over the shoulder.</p><p>“Um, it’s okay,” Veronica said. “It’s not an emergency. She’s okay. Physically at least. I’m just the guidance counselor wanting to set up an appointment. Just tell her to call me back.” She gave the woman her number before hanging up.</p><p>She breathed in and out for a few minutes, closing her eyes and opening them to calm herself. “It means nothing. It’s just a prank. A mean one, but a prank,” she said out loud. She picked up a picture frame and stared at it for a moment before putting it back down again, worried. JD tried to catch a glimpse of it, but she had turned it over before he could. The day wore on and JD sat in the seat normally a student would sit in, watching her. </p><p>“Hey Veronica,” JD said, forlorn. He was leaning on the arm rest with his hand in his head staring at her. Veronica Sawyer, aged 27, was sitting behind her desk typing and going through some files. She looked tense. After the interaction with that young girl he imagined she would be. He had been so scared and so desperate when he found someone who could see him he hadn’t really thought the whole thing through. Why would Veronica think he was really there? </p><p>Jason Dean was dead after all. He blew himself up. It hadn’t been a choice really to make sure she lived and not him. She was a good person despite her brushes with hate and vengeance. She truly was, he believed. She was, after all, the first person to openly love him. He didn’t understand anything that was happening at that moment. Blow up the school? Why would he want to do that?</p><p>“It’s been awhile, right?” He laughed ruefully. She couldn’t hear him or see him, but he could see her. She was just as pretty as he remembered-- even more so with age. Gone was the childish innocence and roundness of face and replacing it was the hardened eyes of an adult woman who still soldiered on despite it all and in a tight skirt and heels. He couldn’t help but notice that she was just as hot as she’d been ten years prior. He looked around her counselor’s office. “I bet you’re good at this. You could also smell bullshit a mile away.” He looked away and out the window, feeling the weight of the ten years fall on him hard. “God, I hurt you. I hurt you so much,” he whispered on a strained voice. “You loved me and I hurt you,” he said. “You offered me everything I ever wanted and I- and I wanted you. God, I was so fucked up. How did it all get so fucked up? Was it just this- this- Azazel or-? Fuck.” He watched as she shivered and reached for a cardigan. He wished he could put his arms around her to make her warm.</p><p><em> You always make me feel warm and safe, </em> she had once told him much to his glee. She spoke to his primal urge to protect what he loved and to project strength. That was before though. Before he had shot those two boys. Shot them? Why did he do that? He wanted to after they said the hurtful things about Veronica, but wanting someone dead and actually killing them were separate things.</p><p>He closed his eyes and remembered. He remembered the rage filling up inside of him. He remembered Veronica’s tears. They hurt her. It came from him suddenly. Him, but not him. He had allowed this being to take the wheel and drive. <em> “Our love is god.” </em></p><p>“God,” he said getting up and pacing her office. “Even if you could see me. Or hear me. I’d be the last person you’d want to talk to.” He turned to look at her. She picked up a picture on her desk and scanned it, before putting it flat down again, frightened. “She frightened you, didn’t she? The idea that I was somehow back.” He looked at the downturned picture wishing he could pick it up, snoop that he was. “Is that your husband?” He asked, scared for the answer. How was it possible? One look at her and he still wanted her, even after all that had passed between the two of them. </p><p>But Veronica Sawyer was far too lovely and special to be unattended and alone. “You got married, didn’t you? To someone nice. A guy who could really take care of you. A guy that knows how to love someone without destroying themselves and you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tired. He wanted to sleep. <em> Can I even sleep in this state? Am I alive? Am I dead? </em></p><p>He glanced down at her hand. <em> No ring. “ </em>So you’re not married.” A part of him warmed knowing that. A dark one. The one that was still madly in love with her. She was like a magnet. No wonder he managed to find his way back to her. She was like true north on a compass.</p><p>Veronica got up from her desk and he watched her. There were old yearbooks in her office. She scanned her finger over the last handful until she got down the 1990 yearbook. Their year. She went back to her chair and opened it to the page she was looking for. He watched her stare at it intently. He moved behind her to see what she was looking at. It was a boy, seventeen years old, leaning against a motorcycle staring ahead intently, with an intent look on his face.</p><p>
  <em> Jason Dean </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 1971 - 1989 </em>
</p><p><b>Sherwood, Ohio <br/></b> <b>1989<br/></b> <b>The Week After Heather Chandler’s Funeral</b></p><p>He was watching the pretty lady with the camera very intently. Of course he was. Veronica Sawyer wasn’t just the sexiest girl in Westerberg, she was the sexiest girl he’d ever met at any of his schools. She was one in a million. Smart, clever, and just as too cool for school as he was. Her kiss was better than a sugar rush mixed with brain freeze in forgetting all his cares and sleeping with her-</p><p>Well, he may have had a limited sexual history in his seventeen years but sexual relations with Veronica Sawyer were as intense and earth shattering as anything he had ever felt. He was in love, no question. For a guy as lonely and transient as he was, finding love for the first time was as intoxicating and addictive as any illegal substance the average American teen can get ahold of in 1989. And the intoxication tripled knowing she felt the same way too. They hadn’t known each other that long but already the bond was intense. And he would do anything to keep her, to impress her, to make sure she never left him.</p><p>After all, they had accidentally-on-purpose killed the most popular girl in school together and made it look like a suicide. And she was still incredibly into him. Whenever he referred to her as his girlfriend she smiled, clearly elated to be his.</p><p>“Betty! Hey Betty Finn!” Veronica called out, waving to her after the snap was taken. JD was still leaning on his motorcycle. He’d waited two blocks down from her house that morning to pick her up to go to school. She said her dad would murder her if she got on the back of it. He didn’t mind, so long as she was on the back of it with her arms wrapped tightly around him. </p><p>Right now she was insistent on getting a picture of the two of them. Veronica Sawyer liked having pictures.</p><p>Betty Finn was a slender and pretty girl hidden behind big glasses and oversized clothes. Veronica had told him she was best friends with her for most of her school life. Well, until the chance to sit with the Heathers. </p><p>
  <em> The other night he’d parked a block down from Veronica’s house. She snuck out from her room window and met him on his motorcycle. They rode up to the 7/11 and got slushies. They slurped on them in between talking and fooling around in the wooded area on a nearby overlook she told him was a makeout spot. He recalled her laying on his chest, his coat over them both like a blanket as he told her about her friendship with Betty. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We had been friends since grade school,” she told him, her hand warm against his chest. “Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads,” she told him guiltily. He stroked her hair and kissed her. “You must think I’m just as bad as Heather.” She paused, her conscious breaking through. “God, I don’t even miss her.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sh,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. “I think you’re a good person. They’re all just jerks. You are nothing like them.” She snorted.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “At the end of the day, being best friends with Heather, Heather, and Heather is the best protection from all the other assholes at school. Who am I without them?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re a Veronica,” he told her truthfully. “Hey,” he told her, cocky. “And don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” He rolled over her, the coat exposing his bare back to the chill but her body was warm enough as he caged his arms around her. She coyly smiled up at him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, you will, will you?” He leaned down and began kissing her neck as she sighed.  </em>
</p><p>Back in the school parking lot Betty stared at him with a mix of fear and dislike. He bristled. He had no idea what he had done to her. He liked her in fact. He liked anyone who didn’t treat others like garbage. “Can you get a picture of us, please?” </p><p>“Um, sure Ronnie.” She awkwardly held up the camera to the two of them. He put his arm around her but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She always blushed under the intensity of his gaze. “Say cheese,” she told them but they didn’t listen. He barely registered that the picture had been taken. Betty handed the camera back to Veronica.</p><p>“Maybe we could hang out this weekend or something,” Veronica said, nervously, trying to resume her friendship as she toyed with the camera and put it around her neck. Ostentatiously, she had borrowed it for Yearbook stuff. </p><p>“I’d like that,” Betty said hopefully. “Maybe-” Then she saw JD’s arms swivel around Veronica’s waist from behind. She smiled and leaned into the embrace. <em> His arms were really the most comfortable and safest place to be, </em>she thought. “If you’re not too busy that is,” Betty said disappointed, eyeing the new guy who had beat up Kurt and Ram in the cafeteria her best-- ex? On pause?-- friend was currently obsessing over.</p><p>“Maybe we could all go to a movie or something,” JD said, liking the idea of friends. As he said it though, the queerest voice inside him whispered, <em> never share her. She’s ours, only ours. </em>He felt strange, where had that come from? </p><p>Veronica smiled at the thought of the three of them hanging out. “Yeah, let’s-” At that moment someone barged into the three of them and with a snigger pointed to both her and JD and made a lewd motion with their hand and mouth. JD stared at them oddly. </p><p>“What the fuck was that about?” JD asked as he dead eyed the kid. Veronica looked disappointed, Betty had already gone to head inside.</p><p>“No idea,” Veronica said, still a little upset by her interaction with Betty Finn. JD threw the charm on to the max. He took her arm and twirled her around and she giggled madly as he brought her close for a hug and a kiss to her head. “Let me go!” She told him playfully. “I have to go deal with Heather and Heather about that awful date they forced me to join them on Friday night with Kurt and Ram. I’ll see you inside in a few.” She regrettably left his side. He held on to her hand as long as he could before their fingers let go. She laughed and ran off inside. He had a few minutes to spare before the bell and leaned back on his bike, staring at her, his hands stuffed in his pockets.</p><p><em> She’s absolute perfection, </em>a voice told him just as heartsick as he was.</p><p><em> The most beautiful girl in ten schools and eight states, </em>JD agreed, not even questioning anymore the voice whispering in his ear.</p><p>
  <em> We will do anything for her. </em>
</p><p><em> Anything, </em> he agreed <em> . </em></p><p>That morning he found out those two asshole jocks made up a sexual encounter with her. That day JD allowed the voice in his head to take the driver’s wheel to get revenge.</p><p><b>Sherwood, Ohio<br/></b> <b>1999</b></p><p>“I wish you could see me Veronica,” he told her honestly as she closed the yearbook. “You said my arms made you feel safe? Your arms are the only place I ever felt whole.” He ran his hand through his hair and jumped up to sit on the window sill. "Fuck," he whispered. "How'd it all get so fucked up?"</p><p>He watched her turn her computer off and go home.</p><p>The next day he watched as she went through her daily appointments. It was Friday, the end of the week. He heard her on the phone discussing some plans to go to a bar with a friend. JD had taken up permanent residence in her office. Where or who else would he rather haunt? He got up when he heard a knock on the door. A woman in her mid thirties with dyed blond hair and a mini skirt was at the door.</p><p>“Mrs. Walker?” Veronica asked. <br/><br/>“You’re Miss Sawyer?” She asked as JD got up for her to sit in the chair. Not that it mattered, her passing right through him, but old habits.</p><p>“Ms. actually." She leaned over to shake Veronica’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>“You’re younger than I thought you would be.” Veronica snorted, unsure what that meant.</p><p>“Well, I get that a lot. I’m sorry if you had to excuse yourself from work for this.” Mrs. Walker nodded. She was losing money coming today, but she needed to know how deep her daughter had gotten this time. “Do you know what this is about?” She started, tentatively. </p><p>“A little. My daughter came home a little upset. My sister-- we’re staying with her right now-- can be strict. It’s been stressful for all of us.” Veronica nodded. </p><p>“I see. Yes, she did seem very distraught. Nervous, actually.” Mrs. Walker nodded. “You guys move around a lot, I see.” The woman nodded. "Lots of school transcripts." JD nodded, suddenly understanding the girl a bit. <br/><br/>“Hard to keep a good job and a safe place to live.” Veronica nodded.</p><p>“It’s not a judgement, believe me, but I don’t see her father listed in her contacts."</p><p>"We're divorced."</p><p>Veronica said the next bit carefully. "He isn’t looking-?”</p><p>“That man was a lot of things, but believe you me, he is not looking for us.” Veronica was relieved. Well, not for the lack of care the man showed his daughter and ex, but she had worried they were running from him. The hamster wheel was turning, this was what she was good at. She was trying to suss out if there was abuse, but she didn’t think it was from the mother. Not one who was as strapped for cash as she clearly was but managed to still come in for a parent conference on Friday afternoon.</p><p>“I’ll get to it. Your daughter said some things to me the other day. Some things that were personal. And distressing,” she said as diplomatically as she could. As if on cue the woman started hacking up a lung. “Oh gosh,” Veronica said, concerned. “Let me get you some water, okay?” Veronica got up and walked out to the water fountain. The woman stopped on a dime.</p><p>“Leave my daughter be,” she whispered into the void. JD paused, unsure if she could see her too. He walked over and waved his hand over her eyes. She didn’t register him. “I can’t see you, but I know you’re there. We both can see in the dark, but my flashlight isn’t nearly as bright as hers. She can’t get mixed up in whatever trouble you are going to bring her.” JD didn’t know what to do. He needed help to talk to Veronica but he hadn’t liked the fear on that girl’s face. There was something happening. Something big and he didn’t want anyone getting hurt. "Please, she's just a little girl."</p><p>Veronica walked in with a bottle of water and Mrs. Walker continued hacking. “Here, please. Take it.” The woman nodded and took the water, sucking it down.</p><p>“Thank you,” she gasped. “I don’t know what that was.” She looked at her watch. “Miz Sawyer, don’t worry. I’ll talk to her and make sure she doesn’t say things like that to you again, oaky?”</p><p>“Mrs. Walker, that’s not-”</p><p>“I do have to go, I’m sorry. I have a 3:15 that always double tips. I can’t miss her.” She grabbed her stuff and as she was about to make a getaway Veronica grabbed her arm.</p><p>“Look, what she said was distressing, yes, but I’m trying to help, really. I like Millie. I do. And I’m getting the stuff straightened out for her lunches. I looked at her test scores and other stuff. She’s terrific. In another year we can help get her stuff together for scholarships to state school. I’d love to help her.” Mrs. Walker relented. Despite herself she liked this young woman. She was a do-gooder type that did seem to want to help. And judging from how tight and short her own skirt was and how tall her boots were she probably wasn't the schoolmarm judgmental type she'd been used to that looked their noses down on her. She hoped they’d be here long enough for this counselor to help her daughter get into a college program. “It’s just, if she’s got other stuff going on I can help with that too. Really. I want to keep having meetings with her.”</p><p>“Thank you. Especially about her lunches. I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need. Really," she told her sincerely. "Thanks. She probably does need someone to talk to.” Veronica nodded and let her go. She closed the door </p><p>JD sighed. The woman was right, he couldn’t drag that poor girl into all of this. It wasn't just the moving around a lot that got to him and made him empathetic. It was clear Veronica wanted to help her. <em>Stop being selfish. Stop fucking up her life.</em></p><p>Veronica sighed, as she sat at her desk, her head in her hand. She picked up the picture on her desk and stared at it. He walked behind her to get a good look at who the lucky guy was. Not married, but a boyfriend probably.</p><p>His eyes squinted, confused. It wasn’t of a boyfriend. It was a little girl with dark hair and a wide smile with teeth missing. </p><p>“God, why did you have to have his eyes?” She whispered to it. JD stared back and forth from the picture on her desk to Veronica perplexed. </p><p>“You have a kid?” He asked, the queerest feeling coursing through him. There was no picture of a husband and no wedding band. Divorced? Already? “How old is she?” His voice trembled. He was terrible at telling ages of kids. She wasn’t little though. Veronica was young when she had her. </p><p>A knock at the side of the door frame jarred her from her revelry. “Veronica? You okay?” A woman asked. Still unsure of what to make of the picture of the little girl he stared at the woman who knocked. It took a moment for him to recognize her old friend, Betty Finn. She was 27 now as well and taken to wearing beige tailored pant suits and had traded her big rim glasses in for a pair of small round ones.</p><p>“Sorry, yeah, just… very strange week.”</p><p>“You’re telling me. The sophomore boys decided to switch my copy of the the Robert Redford <em>Great Gatsby</em> with the tape of Pamela and Tommy Lee. It was an amazing prank. I had to pretend I hadn’t seen it before and that I was mad. I hate when the pranks are clever and you can’t let them know it.” They both laughed. “You still want to go get drinks with Heather tonight? We really don’t have to, you know.” She sat in the seat and stared at her friend trying to suss out the problem.</p><p>“No, um. I promised her we would. She wants me to meet her fiancé and Theo’s already arranged a sleepover at her friend’s house.” <em> Her daughter’s name is Theo.  </em>He smiled. </p><p>"Theodora, right? I remember. You're favorite book was <em>Haunting of Hill House."</em></p><p>“Worried you’ll feel like a fifth wheel? Rob’s coming out too, and Heather has her fiancé.” Veronica shook her head. <em> She’s single? </em></p><p>“Ha. No, I’ll be fine. You two never make it weird.”<em> Where’s this kid’s father?  </em>He couldn’t take his eyes off of the picture. She had the same hair and face as her mother. Only… her eyes, they looked familiar. </p><p>“Come on Ronnie. What is it? Yuck. It’s this whole morbid ten years later memorial thing Heather McNamara wants to do, isn’t it?” JD listened intently.</p><p>“Memorial?” He asked no one-- since they couldn’t hear him-- in particular. “God, really?”</p><p>“It’ll be fine. I've made my peace with my part-" JD closed his eyes, wincing. </p><p>"The part I dragged you into." Guilt was starting to overwhelm him.</p><p>"It was just- I was just thinking." Veronica hadn't mentioned her encounter with Millie yet to Betty. She had wanted to keep it confidential for as long as she could. "She wanted to know if Theo wanted to join us for it. I just- I kind of- I don’t know.”</p><p>“She did what?” Betty asked, perturbed. “Well, that’s a line cross.”</p><p>“That’s what I told her. It’s one thing for her to want to memorialize Heather, Kurt, and Ram. But they didn’t know him. They didn’t-” <em> Him? </em></p><p>“Oh. Me,” JD said, surprised. <em> This must be what it’s like to go to your own funeral, </em>he realized. </p><p>“Hey, hey, come on Ronnie," Betty said reaching her hand over to comfort her oldest friend. "Of course, this is all dredging up the past.”</p><p>“It’s not just that. I’ve just been thinking about what she knows and doesn’t know.”<br/><br/>“Who? Theo?” Betty asked, surprised.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“You told me she knows he’s dead.” JD looked back and forth between the women, slow to the pick up.<br/><br/>“She does,” Veronica replied.</p><p>“What else is there really to tell?” Veronica didn't reply. "Look, I know you felt for him. But JD never even knew you were pregnant-”</p><p>The ground nearly fell out from beneath him and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t be bothered with the rest of the conversation. He stared intently at the picture of the girl on Veronica’s desk trying to find any glimmer of himself in her eyes.</p><p>
  <em> The little girl in the picture is my daughter. </em>
</p><p>“Oh my god, I can’t believe you have Ms. Phlegm’s old office!” A vaguely familiar voice shouted. JD was too busy spinning over learning this fact to even marvel at Heather McNamara waltzing into Veronica’s office.</p><p>“Got her stash too,” Veronica said, wiping her eyes and pulling herself together on a dime. “Turns out there was a trick drawer.” Heather laughed.<br/><br/>“Oh my God. You’ll never guess who is joining us tonight! Oh, you two are gonna die when you see who it is!” Heather clapped excitedly and Betty and Veronica tried to look as interested as possible as she pulled a person into the office a little forcibly. </p><p>They were surprised. “Heather?” Veronica said. She had rather hoped their paths wouldn’t cross again.</p><p>Heather Duke, ever so coolly dressed in a green wrap dress with a matching scarf around her neck and sunglasses on top of her head waved. “Veronica Sawyer, Betty Finn. It’s quite the little reunion, isn’t it? This is so nostalgic I half expected you two to still be playing Barbie's together.”</p><p>Betty mockingly laughed. “Heather Duke, so lovely. We really should only do this every ten years.” She smirked back to the girl.</p><p>“Oh gosh,” Heather Mac said, ignoring the barbs. “How amazing for all of us to be back here. I just went to my old locker, and I still remember the combination, can you believe what sticks in your head?”</p><p>“Heather! That’s now another student's locker! And you just went through it?” Veronica said, aghast.</p><p>“Oh relax, I didn’t touch any of their stuff…” </p><p>They continued to chat, but JD couldn’t fathom the conversation. JD took the seat recently vacated by Veronica and stared at the picture frame wiping his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to come to terms with this new revelation. He suddenly knew why he recognized the eyes. </p><p>“Holy shit, you have your grandmother’s eyes,” he told the picture, unable to fathom the revelation.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Now you're telling me<br/></em> <em>You're not nostalgic<br/></em> <em>Then give me another word for it<br/></em> <em>You who are so good with words<br/></em> <em>And at keeping things vague<br/></em> <em>'Cause I need some of that vagueness now<br/></em> <em>It's all come back too clearly</em><br/><em>Yes, I loved you dearly<br/></em> <em>And if you're offering me diamonds and rust<br/></em> <em>I've already paid</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>-Diamonds and Rust (Joan Baez)</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and Comments are beloved. Thanks. I really thank anyone reading this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Glory Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which a reunion takes place.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual but it needed to be this, I think. I've been looking forward to posting it. I've called it my homage to the Chinese food scene in It in many ways.</p><p>It might be a wait on the next chapters as I'm in the home stretch on my other fic and think I should just work on that for now. Anyway, the song credit goes to Bruce Springsteen for "Glory Days" and The Replacements song "Fuck My School" gets a shout out as well.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Well there's a girl that lives up the block<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Back in school she could turn all the boy's heads<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes on a Friday I'll stop by<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And have a few drinks after she put her kids to bed<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Her and her husband Bobby well they split up<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I guess it's two years gone by now<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>We just sit around talking about the old times<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>She says when she feels like crying<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>She starts laughing thinking bout<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Glory days</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-Bruce Springsteen (Glory Days)</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Ohio, 1999</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paulie’s Bar and Grill</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glory Days” by Springsteen was playing at moderate levels through the kind of empty bar. The establishment was indeed owned by Rodney and he was currently at the bar himself wiping it back and forth with a rag since his usual bartender had called out for the evening. The other employee was one waitress-- Fee-- and she was heading from the kitchen back to the one large table occupied all night with a large sampler platter. Things had been a little tight since the families had all vacated since the Chotchkie's had opened up in the new strip mall and the old drunks never quite loitered in until after 11 and seldom ever ordered food. Rodney wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep his dad’s old business running. It was too bad. The town used to love this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least they had one big group tonight and Heather Mac had already handed over her Amex card squealing for everyone not to worry as the whole evening was on her. It was surreal as all fuck for him to be watching a reunion of two of the Heathers, with Veronica Sawyer, and Betty Finn. He liked Veronica and Betty well enough now. They’d been regulars since they were all 21 and Betty now came in with her finance often enough whom he liked. It was strange how rather easy it was to separate the Veronica who ran with the Heathers and all them from the one he got to know that stayed in Sherwood. Granted, having a kid that young tended to change a person. Not that he had ever harbored ill will to her. It was strange how Veronica was able to do that in high school. One day she could be inside the popular circle but the next day float over to the yearbook, or to the regular people all as if nothing was different. He had been in the geek squad with the other geeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also remembered her being hot and heavy with that new kid that blew himself up even if few others ever connected the dots. Not that he ever brought it up. Still, it was curious how that was the only guy anyone ever saw her with senior year and by July of the next she was giving birth. He couldn’t believe how few people ever put that together, but maybe it was because he had died and when she walked inside as the pep rally got out covered in soot and ashes from the explosion everyone was too spooked to ever say anything. The girl had seen death and that was the one thing at Westerberg that managed to keep the gossip at bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Glory days, well they'll pass you by. Glory days, in the wink of a young girl's eye Glory days, glory days,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>blared out of the speakers</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Heather Mac walked up to the bar and smiled at the man bartending. She was always good at charming a bartender. She eyed him up and down, well aware of how handsome he was. She may have been taken but she wasn’t blind. “I’m sorry to ask,” she said, not really sorry, “but would it be possible to switch to the jukebox? I would just love it if we could have some other music playing.” Heather Mac never understood the appeal of Bruce Springsteen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’ll be a hard no Heather,” the bartender said with a chuckle. She was surprised he knew her name. “This is my bar, not high school. We play the music I want to play.” Heather M was taken aback. There was… a touch of vengeance in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um, okay,” she said, surprised. When she got back to the table she turned to Veronica, Betty, and Heather Duke. The latter was tentatively picking up a mozzarella stick and dipping it in the tomato sauce before plopping it in her mouth. “That was odd. He was very… mean about my simple request to change the music.” An odd look passed over Duke’s face. She may have broken a lot of her dangerous eating issues but she couldn’t remember the last time she had had fried food from a bar. She hated admitting how much she loved it even if a dark part of her brain was trying to calculate the calories and criticize her for it. She washed it down with a sip of Long Island iced tea in front of her, that usually killed that voice she had learned. Veronica noticed it probably more than the others. At one point when they were teens Veronica had tried to talk her into going to see a doctor about her eating disorder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive over had served to be a short catchup as she decided to sit in the back of Betty’s car with the two of them having already gotten the gist of Heather Mac’s life from having been picked up at the airport by her and getting lunch earlier in the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Betty and Veronica, still besties all these years later, huh?” Heather asked the two of them. She hadn’t meant it to come off harsh, but it did. It was an acknowledged problem of hers. In actuality that closeness the two had for the amount of years they had it was kind of enviable. The closest bond she had formed since high school had been with her ex Katie, but she realized after that was over that it had really been a lie. Katie had compartmentalized her life and Heather Duke was merely her “dirty little secret” she refused to share her whole life with. After that she had kept most friends, acquaintances, and one night stands at arms length where they had to stay less she get hurt like that again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Veronica told her, not wanting Betty to fight the girl. It was still a shock that she had even bothered to show up to Westerberg. None of them had really seen her since she headed off to California and greener pastures nearly ten years ago. Neither Betty or Veronica knew quite what to expect from a reunion session with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll get it out of the way as I already told Heather,” she told them adjusting her hair and squaring her shoulders defiantly. “‘I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it,’ as the slogan goes.” They both blinked, slightly taken aback. “I sleep with women,” she elaborated. “Exclusively.” Heather Duke stared at them unsure what response that would get. Shock? Surprise? Anger? She didn’t really much care anymore, particularly around people she hadn’t really spoken with in nearly ten years. If they had a problem with it then that was their problem, not hers. She had spent too many years in fear and hiding herself to care much anymore. What was worse was that fear of letting go had nearly led her to giving someone rat poison for breakfast. It niggled at her, if she hadn’t been dead when she arrived…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knocked it out of her head. No more ghostly visits of Heather Chandler tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Betty said in a strange high pitch, unsure what to say to that. She had no problems with anyone being out, but she just never thought she’d hear that said to her so bluntly from Heather Duke of all people with no lead up. “That’s- that’s really great to hear,” she said unsure how else she was supposed to respond. Not that many people had really gone out of their way to come out to her. Veronica side eyed her and Betty responded with a shrug. They had built a long term gesture code in the many years of their friendship and it basically amounted to:</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Veronica: What kind of response was that?</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Betty: I don’t know. What else was I supposed to say? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That being said, Veronica had known Heather Duke a bit better back in the day and this “revelation” of sorts didn’t quite shock her. It actually made a lot of sense if she really thought about it. “Okay. Good to hear. I’m glad you’re open about it now,” Veronica said, not sure how else to respond. Heather Duke laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a better reaction from you two than Heather McNamara. She got quiet and then got confused because, well, I dated boys in high school, didn’t I? I told her I was in the closet back then and pretending because you know the whole small town in Ohio thing. She then double checked with me if I was sure. I told her I was quite sure. Then she got quiet again. She than proceeded to tell me she supported many issues facing the gay community and gave frequently to AIDS research.” The three of them all laughed. “You’d think for a girl that went to Vassar I wouldn’t be the first lesbian she’s ever met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather tries. She always has,” Veronica reminded her. Duke shrugged and looked out the window seeing the changes and the sameness of Sherwood, Ohio since the last time she had been there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, there’s a multiplex now?” She asked as they passed it by. “Sherwood’s really moving up in the world,” she said sarcastically. Living in LA had jaded her a lot to small town life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that thing,” Veronica said disgustedly and ignored her jibes at small town life. “Yeah, it’s putting the old drive-in and single screener under. It really sucks. I try and not take Theo there but a lot of times that’s where her friends want to go. There’s an arcade inside it too so the kids hang out there sometimes even if they don’t go to the movies.” Heather nodded, still looking. There were new housing developments too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo?” She asked, realizing she hadn’t asked about her. “That’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My daughter. That’s her name. Short for Theodora,” Veronica told her. Heather nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember. Quite the non-scandal that was a scandal back in high school. I mean, it would have been a lot more talk of the town if not for Heather Chandler, and Kurt and Ram’s death. Oh, and that guy blowing up in front of you.” Heather Duke knew his name was Jason Dean, Veronica didn’t know what game she was playing. She wouldn't worry about it though. Right now, he was a ghost she couldn’t shake that week. She changed her tone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop thinking about him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also Martha Dunstock’s attempted.” Betty reached out and touched Veronica’s hand in solidarity as she drove with the other. Betty was still unconvinced dredging up the past was good for Veronica. Heather Duke ignored the mention of Jason Dean and focused on the person she knew better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever happened to Martha Dunstock? Anyone know?” She tried to keep her tone light. Veronica noticed she at least used her real name which she appreciated. Duke, like most of their schoolmates, had been a grade A bitch to the girl in high school. Duke was aware, but they were besties back in their camp attending days. She wondered often that if they hadn’t been destined for different places in the pecking order of high school they wouldn’t have become life long chums like Veronica and Betty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martha? She’s great. She went to law school if you can imagine. She has a private practice right in Sherwood. Inherited her parent’s house a couple of years ago when they died and she renovated it. Looks great now.” Martha’s house was in what was considered the “poor” side of town. She had been working to help improve the condition of not just her own house but the whole neighborhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica paused before adding. “She comes in to the school once a year since I started for assemblies for Suicide Prevention Week. She talks about what she went through and how glad she was that she lived,” she added, sure she brought the mood down. “She’s really great at getting through to the kids though, which is important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Good for her,” Heather said, looking away. A part of her wanted to reach out and talk to her, but maybe she shouldn’t. It had been too long since they were close. What would she say? “I mean, though, physically too? How is she?” She had still been in and out of a scooter by the time graduation rolled around in 1990.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She uses a cane now. She lost a bit of weight though, which helped her physical therapy a lot but she’s not bound to the scooter anymore unless it’s a really bad day which is great for her,” Betty responded. “She’s really open about it if you ask her. She said the idea of shame and humiliation really leaves you when you get as low as she did. She sees a therapist often to keep herself from getting that desperate again.” The weight of the fact that Martha had been very close to being suicide number five in their count was not lost on them. Heather Duke looked out the window re-familiarizing herself with her hometown before they arrived at the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back at the bar Betty chuckled at Heather Mac’s surprise at not being worshiped as the beautiful cheerleader by Rodney at the bar like he once had. “Oh I bet Rodney loved telling you no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rodney? Wait, not Rodney Franklin? AKA Rodney the Loser?” Heather Duke said, shocked as she did a double take on the bartender. She may not have been attracted to men, but she knew when they were good looking or not and loser Rodney had passed his awkward teen years to be tall and handsome now. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt to make sure everyone knew how great of arms he had now. Even the glasses seemed to suit him now. “From high school? Used to drool over us and get beat up a lot, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, remember? This was his dad’s place,” Veronica responded. She swirled the light brown contents of her whiskey sour in her cup. Luckily Betty-- who seldom had ever been really drunk in her life-- was driving her home tonight. “He died last year. Rodney owns and runs it now but he’d been bartending in it and pretty much running it since his dad got sick five years ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty, Veronica, and Rob were regulars of sorts and they had stayed late one night when Veronica’s folks took Theo away for a weekend. They really had a long talk with him about their lives and what had happened with them since high school. It was strange the people you sometimes connect with late at night in a bar when you were ostentatiously having a “mom’s weekend off” Veronica noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, why would Rodney be so mean to me?” Mac said, confused. Also very shocked at herself for having considered Rodney “the Loser” Franklin hot. “I never did anything to him.” Betty looked at her aghast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Except call him ‘Rodney the Loser?’” Betty said, sipping her white wine. She took her seltzer and diluted it a little. If it were just her, her fiancé, and Veronica both of them would be teasing her over it. Mac stared at her not comprehending the statement she had given. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that was- everybody called him that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, you guys came up with it.” Betty looked at her, genuinely surprised. “In tenth?” Heather still wasn’t getting it so Betty laid it on her. “Heather, don’t you remember? I mean, you were Westerberg royalty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and? I was a cheerleader and well liked, yes. Heather Chandler, Heather Duke, Veronica, and I were all in that little clique.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Heather, you weren’t universally liked,” Betty broke it to her. “Feared is a better word for it. I mean, you were a bully.” Mac blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I wasn’t,” she laughed, unbelieving it. “I mean, I was popular and a cheerleader and on a lot of committees and stuff but I wasn’t a bully. Everybody loved me. And no one likes a bully.” Veronica looked at her with the same expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Heather… you kind of were,” Veronica agreed, albeit a little more gently. “We all were. Heather, Heather, Heather… even me. I’ll own up to it.” She took a sip of her drink and Betty looked at her grateful. Betty had forgiven her since she had acknowledged it. But Betty’s friendship ran a lot deeper than anyone else at the table did with Veronica. Betty was aware of the depths of Veronica’s crimes but had forgiven her seeing how hard she worked to make up for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh please,” Heather Duke said, unwilling to cast herself as a villain. “We were just as bullied as they were. Heather Chandler treated me like crap too,” Duke said. She remembered her cruel laughter when she threatened to out her in front of the whole school and shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what you did to me when you found out about my own sad thoughts,” she said to Heather Duke quietly. Memories of Duke’s taunt about how she “was going to run off and cry” somewhere and the low moment of pills in the ladies room flitted inside her. Duke looked at her, unsure what to say to that sadistic remark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That may be true,” Betty countered. “But- but, I mean- Wow, you guys really didn’t realize how much damage you did to people? How cruel you all could be? Especially when you were all in a clump together. My table in the caf would call it ‘The Wall of Heatherdom’ and not nicely.” Betty told them, memories of the clump of them in heels, perfume, and lip gloss teetering with that derisive laugh only cruel teenage girls could laugh. That laugh that wasn’t in mirth, but twisted in cruelty that let you know that they knew the joke and you didn’t. That in fact, you were the joke. “Those lunchtime notes were hardcore awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Duke snorted, not wanting to face her demons tonight. “They can tell it to their therapists. What did they expect? Life is cruel,” Duke said, unwilling to act guilty like Mac was doing. “High school sucks. You can’t change the past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Veronica laughed. “Like The Replacements said, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck school? Fuck my school</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’” Heather Duke looked at her oddly. A faint memory of Veronica sitting on that guy JD’s motorcycle in the school parking lot kissing him as he played that song on a tape deck popped to mind. She brushed it off. Why in the world would she think of that random of all people? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, he was suicide number four Heather, remember? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She told herself. She took another piece of fried food and greedily sucked it down her throat, washing it down with her Long Island iced tea. Duke remembered him as being… odd. Hot and heavy with Veronica one minute then it blew up the next. Literally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And by the summer she had her kid but… she never did spill the beans to anyone who the father was. Everyone-- herself included-- had been too terrified by the way she walked into the hallway after the pep rally covered in soot to ask or gossip about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I apologize?” Mac asked, worried and looking at Rodney at the bar. “I should apologize. I really had no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Betty and Veronica both said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologizing isn’t going to make things better. It’ll just make you feel better. And it’s not about you. You bullied people and it hurt at the time and you now feel bad. But that’s it,” Veronica told them. “Heather was actually right. ‘We can’t change the past.’ Just acknowledge it to yourselves and move on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Heather added, not ready to jump on any self-hate train. She had had far too much of that for one lifetime. “And if I had come out in senior year? What do you think would have happened to me?” Duke responded, having none of the guilt fest and loving this sampler platter and Long Island iced tea that was not short changed on the liquor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember you laughed about Jordan Green,” Veronica reminded her. “Remember how he got caught by the cops making out with a boy from Washington in 11th? By Monday everyone knew. You all joined in on the torture. The football players beat him up, called him names, but you all made sure everyone knew and laughed at him on top of it. Even you Heather,” Veronica pointed out to Duke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, I was self-hating back then.” She bristled, not liking the idea that she was the villain in that story. Especially one that if the show were on the other foot would have hurt her so much. It was why she had freaked so badly when Chandler threatened her: she knew first hand what could very well have happened to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You mean why you almost murdered her? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She reminded herself. She chugged some of her drink. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t kill her. I almost killed her. There’s a difference.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I-” Mac said, worried. “I mean, Heather Chandler started most of that stuff.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And you followed along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did always just follow the crowd,” Mac said, remembering the pills in the bathroom again. Veronica sighed, not meaning to sound like she was schooling them. She was rattled by the past enough lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Heather. I’m not an innocent flower either. I’m just to blame for every fake lunchtime note I wrote and for never putting my foot down and stopping her even though I wanted to. I live with that guilt.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I live with so much guilt.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She picked up her whiskey sour and took a sip. “Guys, we’re adults now. And if I learned anything from counseling teenagers and our own toxic high school experience it’s that bullying is more complicated than simple bully and victim or good guy and bad guy narratives. I watch the pretty and likable-- popular if you will-- torture the weak and I’ve seen the outcast kids mock and belittle them in return as well as anyone they see as ‘beneath them.’ I had to break up a small group of kids for calling some girls in Gap clothes doing nothing wrong, ‘mindless sheep.’ I’ve also had to tell the the football jocks to stop torturing any of the boys for being gay or suspected of it. I’ve seen kids who are bullied turn around and bully others. And guess what? Every kid comes to my office at one point and tells me they were the victim of bullying, pretty or ugly. Confident or a mess.” She looked at Heather Mac who had a rather peculiar expression on her face. “I’ve never had any kid admit to being the bully.” Veronica finished up her drink and looked down at the remaining cubes of water. “The truth is we’re all just trying to survive minute to minute the best we can. The most secure to even the least secure person. The pretty ones and the messes.” She wanted another drink, badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was really cruel to people, wasn’t I?” Mac said, taking Veronica’s speech to heart. She looked over to Rodney the Lo- Rodney Franklin and realized how petty it all really was back then. She suspected he was actually a good guy if you got to know him. Speaking of good guys… </span>
  <em>
    <span>where was Will? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She looked down at her Nokia brick anxiously checking to see if she had any messages or missed calls. She’d feel better if he were here. He was supposed to be here by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty sighed. “You weren’t the worst,” she told her, suddenly feeling bad. Betty Finn really had no idea that Heather or Heather never saw themselves as villains in any way, shape, or form. They thought they were victims in their own ways too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was it that Heather Chandler told me once? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica thought:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I teach people "real life." Real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we all know who was the worst among us,” Heather Duke said. She reached over with a fork and daintily picked up a fried pickle and tentatively put it in her mouth, the mozzarella sticks having been claimed. Veronica noticed the look on her face as she reveled in the flavor. She wondered how much fried food she ate in general considering her old binge and purge habits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, she wasn’t too happy with herself either,” Heather Mac responded, thinking of Heather Chandler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… what I miss?” Rob, Betty’s fiancé, said as he sat down next to Betty with his beer arriving fresh from his work. He scooched his chair and put his arm around her naturally. Betty leaned into him, happy for his outsider presence. Duke and Mac looked at him with scrutiny. He was from two towns over and Betty and he had met at a mixer in her church’s basement four years ago. Betty had been accompanying her grandmother at the Sacred Heart church to a penny social and Rob was with his grandfather. They were the only people above ten and below fifty at the event and naturally their grandparents needed them to hook up. Thankfully they did hit it off. Veronica was really happy they’d found each other so naturally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just catching up on all the nasty shit we all did when we were teenagers,” Betty told him. She quickly introduced the names around the table to Rob. Rob was glad both the girls he didn’t know were named Heather. He was shit at remembering names and was glad it was just one name he could use twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Cool. Yeah, Westerberg, man. We all knew you guys were the worst. The horror stories I heard.” He shivered. “Girls ruling over the other kids like royalty. Messed up. No wonder you got a Year of Death.” Betty gave him a fierce look. “I’m just saying-- That shit never went down at Jefferson.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey,” Betty said, stopping him by squeezing his leg. Heather, Heather, and Veronica sat deep in their own thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. Shit, Veronica. I wasn’t thinking. You know I’m-” Veronica quickly wiped her tears. Rob knew… some of what she had told Betty. He knew Theo’s paternity and what he had done but that was about it. When you told Betty Finn not to spill your secrets, Betty Finn held true to her word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather Duke, always the observant one, glanced back and forth at the curious exchange. “Year of Death?” She asked though. They paused. Fee came over with a fresh round of drinks for them. Betty and Veronica politely thanked her. Heather Duke ordered another appetizer platter for the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what they call it. The kids at Westerberg now I mean,” Veronica clarified. Heather Mac gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, morbid little shits, aren’t they?” Duke said, with a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Betty said, sipping on her white wine seltzer. “For once I agree with you Heather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To high school,” Veronica said, in mock salute with her drink. Heather, Heather, Betty, and Rob raised their glasses and clinked them together. “Whew! Class of 1990!” Veronica yelped, dripping with sarcasm. Somewhere at the bar Rodney clapped in solidarity with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whew,” they all responded too, equally as despondent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, we don’t even hold the record,” Veronica said, morbidly. “In Plano, Texas in ‘83 eight kids killed themselves one year. Three in one week,” Veronica told them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only one of our suicides was even a suicide, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she didn’t add.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Heather Duke said, shaking her head, not liking the way the conversation had taken. “Heather, where’s this fiance of yours?” Mac stirred her drink and checked her phone for missed calls again anxiously. “I would actually like to meet him,” she said truthfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he’d join us… but he was in some meeting about the south end real estate development. Said it might run late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rob raised his eyebrows. “He’s working on that?” He asked, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He owns a lot of the land. He wants to build new houses. I don’t have a lot of the details, he doesn’t really talk business with me,” she admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Veronica asked. She wasn’t used to Rob being so skeptical about a construction project.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing. It’s just we put in a bid for that and- well, ended up backing out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, why?” Mac asked, surprised. Rob got nervous. “I liked the idea of bringing a lot of work to Sherwood. Will said it was to make affordable housing for people. I thought that was nice.” Rob wasn’t sure if he should explain to her the economic ramifications of what that usually entailed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guy we were dealing with was just- you know what? I don’t like talking business over drinks.” Heather M looked at him suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing wrong, right? I mean Will would never be involved in anything untoward.” Rob shook his head, clearly biting his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know that much about it, really. I’m sure it’s all fine.” Rob was also a terrible liar. Thankfully Mac didn’t know him that well to realize it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we covered my romantic life in the car ride,” Heather said, taking a large swig of her Long Island iced tea. “We know about Heather's, and even Betty Finn’s…” She chuckled, the alcohol in her system bringing out the streak of cruelty she tried to keep at bay as she inwardly laughed at what she perceived as Betty’s rather vanilla engagement to Bob Villa over there. Betty narrowed her eyes at Heather. She wasn’t a teenager to be mocked anymore. She also realized Heather Duke was on her third cocktail of the evening. Her third Long Island iced tea at that, with little signs of slowing down. “Veronica? How ‘bout you?” Veronica looked up, shocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Me? Well…” she said, a little taken aback as she finished her drink. Duke looked at her suspiciously. She signaled the waitress for another round for the table as if she were still in LA. The waitress looked confused but she recognized Veronica, Betty, and Rob and walked over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Fee, I think Heather is not accustomed to being back in Ohio. Would you mind sending us another round?” Betty asked more politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Of course.” She collected the empty glasses. Duke just chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohio politeness, how I have not missed it.” She shook her head. “So, yeah. Veronica. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Celibate? What’s your deal?” Veronica swallowed. Thankfully Fee came back and brought her a fresh sour. She took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got a lot on my plate, Heather. Work, single mom stuff- it’s hard to really date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. You still look great, barely lost your figure from the kid. You’re gonna tell me you dress like that to show off those legs for the teen boys of Westerberg?” Veronica was in her pumps and mini-pencil skirt coupled with a halter top. She had worn a cardigan over it for modesty’s sake at work but she had decided a long time ago she wouldn’t let her motherhood stop her from dressing the way she felt most confident in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, Veronica Sawyer could hold her ground against Duke. And Duke should know it too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She should remember who ripped the red scrunchie from her hair that horrible day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Duke eyed her, clearly empowered by the alcohol and the deep fried sampler platter she was trying to resist the ancient urge to add to her daily total calories in her head. “Confirm a suspicion for me Sawyer: the mystery father of your daughter. Come on, it was JD, wasn’t it?” The entire table stopped at the mention of his name. Veronica shot her a dirty look. “He was all over you before-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather,” Betty Finn growled, ready to pounce to defend her friend. “You may want to shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really,” she said leaning in to talk to Veronica. “Inquiring minds would like the gossip. What the hell am I going to do with the gossip now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly what business is my daughter’s paternity to you Heather?” Veronica said, not allowing her to bate her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, who else could it have been? That guy at Remington Heather was trying to hook you up with? God, Peter was all into you too but you wouldn’t give him the time of day…” Heather mentally went through any guy Veronica Sawyer was mildly around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Heather…” Mac said, nervously, hoping she wouldn’t give it away either. “Let’s talk about something else.” Duke laughed and took a swig of her fresh drink in front of her, clearly emboldened by the alcohol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, he is!” Heather said, shocked. She had just been goading Veronica, being back in Sherwood was painful and she was never very good with friendly banter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I doing this? I don’t mean Veronica Sawyer any harm. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But once she started-- and fueled by the Long Island iced teas she had consumed-- she was like a dog with a bone. She wasn’t going to let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather!” Mac hissed. Out of the table the only person who wasn’t in on the truth was Duke, Duke realized staring at all the faces around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you really did have the baby of the psycho who blew himself up in front of you on the football field, didn’t you?” Veronica looked down, unsure how to respond. “Does she look like him?” She asked, with a touch of mockery and morbid curiosity. “I mean, how weird if she-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just her eyes,” Veronica said, staring at her drink playing with the straw in her cup. “Little gestures, or looks on her face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Duke stopped, realizing everyone at the table was staring daggers at her now. She never did know how to quit it. “I’m sorry. I’ve been drinking. I didn’t-” Duke searched for the words, realizing she was twenty-seven, not seventeen and this was someone’s living breathing daughter. A daughter she had had with the psycho who blew himself up in front of her, but her daughter nonetheless. They had just been discussing how she was a bully in high school. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Guess I still am, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Duke realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a great kid,” Betty said, evenly to Duke. “Smart and funny. Repeats whatever she hears on the TV but also has a strong knowledge of what’s right and wrong and fights for it.” Veronica had made certain her daughter knew that from day one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to use the bathroom,” Veronica said, getting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Betty said, following her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, I’m gonna go get another beer,” Rob said, with half a glass of his. He really didn’t want to be left alone with Heather and Heather without his fiance or her best friend. He got up with his beer and pack of cigarettes to talk with Rodney at the bar. When they were alone, Duke uncomfortably twisted the scarf around her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the actual fuck Heather?” Mac said to Duke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a cunt. I really am. I don’t know how to quit,” she told her evenly and truthfully. She sighed and checked her own mobile phone. The Nokia brick alerted her to a new message. She opened it. It read:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>its Liz. friend gave number. call me. pleaz</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Duke startled. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Liz? Liz?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lizbeth? The model? How the fuck did she get this number?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Duke certainly didn’t give it to her. Fuck, she realized. Someone at the Hidden Box probably did. She toyed back and forth with the weight of the phone. “I have to make a phone call,” she said to Heather Mac.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go outside with it at least. It’s super rude to talk on your phone inside a restaurant,” Mac said, still upset over what she had said to Veronica. Quickly she grabbed her coat and did just that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the bathroom Betty and Veronica were passing a cigarette back and forth. Veronica had “quit” officially when she was pregnant but in extreme stress situations or when drinking was involved she was known to split one-- or have one whole. Okay, she made sure her daughter never saw one in her mouth or smelled it on her at least. She knew she’d end up having at least one or two more whole one’s tonight and cough tomorrow but she didn’t care for right now. Betty picked up the habit in college strangely enough. Apparently teaching school can get pretty crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess Heather Duke is still a world class bitch.” She puffed out and passed it back to her oldest friend. Veronica took a drag, barely feeling it and passed it back. “Here I was thinking about giving her the benefit of youth that she was like that just from the stress of being in the closet. Turns out that’s just her personality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about that,” Veronica said truthfully. “Heather Duke is Heather Duke. At least she’s unashamed of herself now. She actually ate solid food without looking for the toilet. And it’s not like she has anyone to gossip about all of that to anymore.” Betty nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still... you’ve been upset all night about something. I thought it was this whole memorial thing. You should have told Heather M to stuff it, really. I don’t know why she’s so bent on this.” Veronica shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was friends with her for a while. She’s really not that bad.” Betty eyed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what’s wrong,” She gave Veronica the last of the cigarette and she puffed on it before putting it out and tossing it in the toilet. She leaned against the stall. “Now. It’s not them, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a meeting the other day with a new student.” Betty nodded. “A Millie Walker. I think you have her for 11th grade American Literature.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Betty said nodding. “And my creative writing elective.” Betty pictured the new girl in her mind. A little skittish and shy with badly dyed blonde hair-- but that was apparently the style now-- and obscure band shirts with dirty converse sneakers. Westerberg was still a pretty suburban middle class preppy school and she heard one of the students mutter, “trailer trash” about her. Betty picked her battles when it came to enforcing the bans on taunting. Her instinct was to admonish but often she found calling students out in front of the others caused more friction for the bullied. “I like her. She already turned in one short story. It was about a man trying to contact his wife from beyond the grave. A bit melodramatic but very creative. She’s got a good command of basic writing technique. Spelling and grammar on point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica crossed her arms and looked away. “I liked her too. She’s getting guff from the school about getting the free lunch program.” Betty clucked her tongue. She agreed the rules for it were draconian and designed to shame the kids. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just give a kid a free three dollar shitty lunch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what about her?” Betty prodded. “Oh gosh. You don’t think she’s being hurt at home or anything?” Betty knew as well as Veronica did they were both ethically and legally obligated to report any suspicions and they’d both had to do it in their careers once or twice before. It was always complicated and messy for all involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, not that I think. She’s skittish and nervous but no bruising or anything. I spoke with her mom and she was nothing but concerned for her kid. A lousy living situation, but… no, not that. And I’m good with feeling that out. She just- she said something to me. I don’t know how she knew- if someone put her up to it or- fuck, I don’t know.” Veronica started shaking, she wished she had brought her drink in with her. Betty touched her arm calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me Ronnie. Now. You look super spooked.” She twisted her leg and breathed in deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She said that there was a man in the room with us. There was no man in the room with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to call in for a psych eval,” Betty said, just as spooked. “If she sees things- I mean, that’s the age stuff manifests, right? Jesus and if she’s going personal with it-” Veronica shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It’s not that, it’s just-” She breathed out and decided to spit it out to Betty. “She said his name was JD and he told her to tell me,” she swallowed, “‘our love is god.” Betty went sheet white. “How would she know that? It’s one thing to learn the name Jason Dean, it’s on the plaque and in the yearbook. Hell, maybe some person out there really remembers that we were together.. But it didn’t say he went by JD. And no one really at school knows the extent of our relationship was. I dunno. Her address was near where his rental house was, maybe someone made a comment remembering him and me. It was only ten years ago and a lot of older people live in that part. But… that phrase. Fuck Betty, I never even told you that he said that to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty blinked. “Wait, what she said only he could know?” She shivered and Veronica saw her instinctively clutch the crucifix around her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And I don’t- I don’t know what to think. And when I drove Theo to Josie’s for the night she was just so… distant. Something’s up with her. She’s upset and won’t tell me. I didn’t want to pry yet, figuring she would talk it out with her friend. God, what the hell am I doing here tonight? What the hell am I doing playing along with Heather and this absurd idea of a memorial?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty sighed, still playing with her crucifix. “Come on, we need to get out there and talk to them. I’ll get Rob and we can all get out of here. We’ll go back to my place and talk some more. Spend the night with us. I’m really worried about you. Theo too. What if Millie contacts her? The elementary school isn’t that far from Westerberg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, I didn’t even think of that. I don’t want her to know any of this about him. Not yet. Betty, in her mind her father is this magical mythical figure. He rode a motorcycle and didn’t leave her intentionally. You know how she is, she probably romanticizes him as this handsome boy who loved me but tragedy struck.” Veronica held her tears back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He did love you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she reminded herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He just didn’t know how to do it in any healthy manner. And you loved him. You just couldn’t save him from his own demons. “</span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s too young to understand how complicated all of that was.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And God, she will never hear about our part in murdering Heather, Kurt, and Ram. I’ll end up in hell, but I’ll be damned if she ever has to live with the guilt of that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I wanted to wait until she started Westerberg because I knew she wouldn’t avoid the stories about our senior year and she’d be old enough to understand it better. If I could afford it I wouldn’t even send her to that school. Betty, she’s only nine. I wanted more years with her free of knowing all this. I haven’t even shown her a picture yet.” Betty stared at Veronica in worry and dread. Her best friend didn’t often fall apart like this and it was scaring her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on Ronnie. We need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out. Maybe get Theo, ask for a leave of absence, say there’s a big family emergency and all of us can just get out of town for a week or something. Go to the lake. Fuck this reunion slash memorial bullshit.” Veronica pulled out the pack and lit a second smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, Heather Duke walked out and wrapped her coat around her to ward off the chill. She dialed the number on the text message. It rang once before someone picked up a loud terminal. Vaguely in the background Heather heard the sounds of an airport. “Lizbeth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather! Oh gosh, thanks for returning my message.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m out of town right now. Who gave you this number?” Heather said, upset. The line paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friend,” Liz said, confused. “Look, I was hoping you could pick me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, what?” Heather took the phone away from her ear and looked at it, shocked. “I’m at a bar right now with old school friends catching up. In Ohio.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alienating them for good actually.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. I can always take a cab to this address I guess if you've been drinking. 22 Lyndie Dr in Sherwood, right? I just landed in Ohio fifteen minutes ago.” Heather was shocked to her core. And pissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell? That crosses a line. A huge one. I am in town for a memorial service. What the hell do you think you’re doing following me here? We were a one night stand. I thought the signals were clear.” There was silence on the other end of the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I- I was worried. If you didn’t want me to come then why did you leave me a letter at the Hidden Hole telling me it was an emergency and that I should catch the next available flight to Ohio?” She asked, in a small scared voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The letter. There had been a letter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi Lisbeth,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry I was such a pillowcase with you. I had an emergency, please come to Sherwood, Ohio ASAP. I need your help desperately.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heather</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It included directions and an address.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Heather replied. “I didn’t leave you a note.” Lizbeth’s chest dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, wait. But this blonde girl with curls in a red blazer gave it to me and told me it was an emergency. She said she was an old friend of yours. I presume some kind of ex the way she was carrying on, but I didn’t pry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friend in a red blazer?” Duke said, her mouth dry. “Did she say her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I thought it was funny. You know, you having maybe gone out with another Heather. I even said that to her. Heather and Heather, how cutesy. Then she told me at one point there were three Heathers in your friend group. Super weird by the way. I never even knew another Lizbeth in school. Anyway, This one though was Heather Chandler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was impossible. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Heather stared off into the night as if the ghost of her dead ex-friend and crush would appear in front of her at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She told me that if you gave me any guff to just say, ‘shut up Heather.’ It sounded mean but she said it was an in joke.” Heather nearly dropped the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me carefully. Get on a plane back to LA.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I hate to sound annoyed but a last minute flight costs a lot of money. Besides, it’s late. I can’t get one until the morning. What’s going on? I thought you were in some kind of trouble. I hate to come off stalker-y but I liked you and I was worried.” Duke’s heart was beating a mile a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, get in a cab to the address you have.” She didn’t want to risk someone else intercepting her. “I’ll pay for it. Something- something really weird is going on. I don’t- look, we’ll figure it out in the morning. I think someone’s playing an elaborate prank or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. I’m in line for one right now. I’ll call you when I get there.” Heather hung up, shaking and walked back in. Veronica, Betty, her fiance, were getting their things together. Mac was furiously sending messages on her phone-- probably to her own fiancé wondering where he was-- looking worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather stared at Veronica ashamed of her behavior and slightly sobered up from the spooky phone call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veronica, I’m really-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off Heather,” Betty told her forcibly. Duke was shocked to hear that from her lips. Her fiancé helped get her coat and put a twenty on the table for tip even though Heather Mac swore the night was on her. He had a smug smile in appreciation of Betty losing her temper and she grabbed her purse. “God, I always wanted to say that to one of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys! Please! Let’s not go away mad,” Mac said, trying to diffuse the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know I was a bitch and crossed the line but something- something really strange and weird has been happening and I’m really freaked out.” Veronica, against her better judgement, eyed her carefully. I’ve had dreams about Heather Chandler and now apparently her dead ghost is leaving notes.” Duke was shaking now, the alcohol in her system not helping her panic attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about Heather?” Veronica asked, her conversation with Millie now coursing through her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sort of girlfriend- well, not really girlfriend we just hooked up one night and I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to the point Heather! I really don’t care about your love life right now,” Veronica cut her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She just landed in Ohio. She said that a blonde girl with curls named Heather in a red blazer told her to come help me.” Duke’s voice hitched. “She said to tell me, ‘shut up Heather’ and that her last name was Chandler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica and Betty exchanged glances unsure how to respond. Mac went white as she stared at her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, Will finally texted back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heather, that’s really not the most pressing-” Betty started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said as tears pricked her eyes. “He’s upset. He said he got a call from my ex-boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ex Ram Sweeney.” All of them looked around petrified. “Apparently he told him all about us in a field and-” She dropped the phone, shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a prank. An elaborate prank some asshole is pulling on you all,” Betty Finn said searching through her purse. “The kids at Westerberg. They gossip about the class of 90’s deaths like it was a ghost story or urban legend. This is all just a nasty prank.” She pulled out the soft pink pearl rosary her grandmother left her that she carried around just in case and absently started rubbing the beads for strength. “This has to be a part of what happened to you Veronica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what happened?” Duke asked, actually concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a student. She said some things-” Veronica was cut off in sheer terror. The door opened to the bar and two loud boys entered. They were both in Westerberg letter jackets and had the sick look of two freshly dug up corpses. Veronica couldn’t breathe. After all, she thought she had witnessed their murders already. Veronica, Heather, Heather, and Betty were all supposed to graduate with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we have to do to get some brewskies around here?” The first one said as he started banging the bar top with one free hand. As he sat down Veronica could see the bullet hole in his chest oozing blood out and his face was deathly pale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rodney came out with a rag in his hand drying a glass. He didn’t look at their faces. “Yeah, I’m gonna need to see some ID’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? This loser is gonna tell us we can’t drink here?” The first boy laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah man. Old loser fag Rodney really thinks he’s a big shot here.” Rodney looked up and turned sheet white, suddenly seventeen years old again watching his friend with his arm painfully held behind his back trying to fight back against his jock tormenters. The group at the table nearly had a heart attack as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt? Ram?” Heather M said in barely a whisper as she walked up to them, unable to comprehend what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second later they all jumped as the bar door kicked open and a shotgun was pointed squarely at the two dead football players.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bam</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The shell dropped and Kurt’s body fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bam</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The next shell dropped and Ram’s body fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two boys fell to the ground and the figure with the gun walked up into the bar in a cloud of residual dust and nudged them with his foot experimentally. Rodney stood behind the bar blinking, his rag still over his shoulder with Fee standing right next to him, unsure what just happened. He knew the boys on the ground and he vaguely remembered the man with a shotgun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica stared ahead and nearly passed out then and there and would have dropped to the floor if not for the nails of Betty Finn digging into her skin painfully to remind her she was still alive and keeping her standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because standing behind the shotgun was a tall man in a long black trench coat, black shirt and pants, and motorcycle boots. A man she had once been intimate with as well as complicit in murders with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veronica, get the hell to the car!” He yelled, as if this were something she would never question. “Theo’s inside there safe but you need to go with her!” Veronica didn’t move and barely breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason Dean, 27 years old and very warm and real, used his free hand to grab the arm of Veronica Sawyer that Betty Finn was not clutching, to pull her forward. “Now! Go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bam.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>In fact I think I'm going down to the well tonight<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And I'm gonna drink till I get my fill<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But I probably will<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>A little of the glory yeah<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Well time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Boring stories of <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Glory days, well they'll pass you by<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Glory days, in the wink of a young girl's eye<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>Glory days, glory days</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Bruce Springsteen (Glory Days)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Obviously next chapter will back things up a bit. </p><p>Kudos and comments are appreciated.</p><p>I'm also trying to get my Halloween piece up before Saturday. I'll try really hard!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. It's Time We Made a Break For It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we see the demon Azazel take over JD, and we see Theo discover her past.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well. I did it. I update. It will NOT BE THE SAME WAIT TIME.</p><p>I promise.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>October, 1989<br/>
</b>
  <b>Sherwood, Ohio<br/>
</b>
  <b>The Morning Kurt and Ram Spread the Threeway Lie</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the moment he officially lost himself to the demon whispering in his ear. JD and Veronica had been in the parking lot kissing on his bike, laughing and enjoying themselves. Just like any couple. One that was in love. The messiness of what had happened with Heather Chandler gone and buried. Literally. They had been to the funeral over the weekend.</span>
</p><p><em><span>It was an accident. We didn’t mean to do that, </span></em><span>he reminded himself. Maybe if he said it enough to himself or to her both of them would believe it.</span> <span>The entire night after the incident he laid in his own bed staring at the ceiling. That was when the whispering started. And the thing was? The whispers were </span><em><span>right.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Every question JD had for it, the whispering had an answer. It didn’t feel scary. The opposite. It was comforting. It told him he was right, that Veronica was his to protect. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His. Only his.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can protect both of you. Let me in… </span>
  </em>
  <span>He felt the presence slide into his soul like slipping on a pair of old boots. It was soft, comfortable, and warm. He now had trouble remembering what his life was even like before the voice began. All that fear, uncertainty, and loneliness now vanished. Left in its place was certainty. Certainty that lifted him to a plain of confidence he had never been before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that the school moved on from Chandler’s “suicide.” While he could tell Veronica still had a pit in her stomach from it he was doing his best to make her forget, to make her happy. All he wanted was for her to be happy with him. He alone could make her happy. He alone was going to make her happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You alone can make her happy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the now familiar and friendly voice agreed with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was her friend Betty-?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t share her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed, slightly frightened. He wasn’t like that. Yes, he was quickly becoming obsessed with this girl, but he wasn’t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to hurt her friends. Not the people who did her no harm. He hadn’t liked the way Heather Chandler had treated her, and he hadn’t meant to really hurt her. He didn’t really know what would happen if she had swallowed that Drain-O. He assumed she’d take a sip and immediately puke- not gulp it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook it loose on his moral compass. She was a cruel and callous girl who used her advantages in life to hurt others. Wasn’t the school— and the world— better off in general without her?  Veronica was free now. She was no longer under her thumb crushing her down anymore, he did her a favor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was all mixed up and didn’t know what to do. Veronica Sawyer was everything to Jason Dean in such a short time. It was exhilarating. He understood now why they called it “falling” in love. It was like a freefall, and he had no idea what would be at the bottom of the pit. He didn’t care, the fall was intoxicating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now though, Veronica was upset. She was crying. There was laughter. So much cruel laughter. “Oh man, what was it like?” He heard Kurt Kelly repeat when another student had asked him. He had Ram Sweeney right by his side. The two of them had been gunning for a fight and confirmation ever since he had the audacity to be new and talk to one of “their” girls. Ever since he witnessed the two of them knock around the two geeks at the funeral the other day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re just as cruel. Just as awful. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Well, it was like-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man,” Ram finished. “It was like having a sword fight in her mouth!” He guffawed loudly as he made obscene gestures mimicking what didn’t happen. Around him, the others cackled, whispered, and pointed at Veronica and him as they entered the scene in the hallway understanding what was happening. Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeny were bragging grossly about something that definitely did not happen. Something that would never happen. Veronica was upset and they were laughing at her. Laughing at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no coercion, only instinct. He walked over and slammed his fist into Kurt, but in his anger Ram caught him off guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me in. Let me take control. I’ll help you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at that moment he consented to the demon’s will. With that, he stumbled momentarily and they managed to get the better of him and he found himself on the ground being kicked. He could hear Veronica’s voice in the background, crying in pain for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off of him!” She cried as she pushed past the crowd and helped him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s mine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He clutched Veronica possessively. She clutched him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s your’s. She’s your’s. SHE’S YOUR’S! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>JD was no longer in control of his life. There was something…inside of him, something driving and operating the controls that wasn’t him. It terrified him but it also, well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. For the first time in his life, he felt no fear, no dread, no bitter quench of loneliness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt rage. He felt power. He felt...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Azazel. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He understood that this force had a name. He understood this force would take care of him, nurture him, keep him safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Give me your trust. I will care for you like no one else ever has, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he whispered inside of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your mother is gone, your father abandoned you. Let me in… Let me in…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>JD had never believed in things like heaven and hell and finite good and evil. Nor had he ever considered the fact that hellfire was real or that the supernatural existed. But now he did, unquestioningly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea was tantalizing. He’d been alone, and without someone to care for him since his mother had died and his father abandoned him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want someone to take care of me. Love me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The force wouldn’t just care for him either, it promised. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica. I will protect her as well. She is ours. Only ours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica, </span>
  </em>
  <span>JD thought back to the demon taking up residence inside of him. He didn’t understand it, not really, but yes. Demon. And he promised Veronica would be safe and taken care of too. JD didn’t understand much but he understood his connection to her was special, unique, and categorically the most important in his short life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond that, JD was intoxicated with her. The way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she had come on to him without hesitation. Her heart. She had given her heart openly and freely to him. She wasn’t like the others, she was special, unique, and his. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The last woman who’d cared for him that openly was destroyed by a monster. No one would hurt her, he vowed. Maybe this monster inside him could protect her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JD would do anything for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Azazel promised to make sure he’d do anything for her that he, as a mortal, couldn’t. He promised he’d make sure she was safe, cared for, worshiped like the queen that she was. And beyond that. Azazel offered him the power he secretly craved. The power to break free from the coldness, the loneliness, and the powerlessness of his childhood. Underneath it all, the demon gave him power. The power to not be pushed around, to not allow the bullies to win.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The bullies are all just miniature versions of your father. Look what he did to your mother. Look what they’ll do to Veronica.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>JD blinked. It was the final straw. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I let you in, Azazel. I let you in. Protect her. Protect us. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And just like that Jason Dean allowed him to take over and consume his mind and his body. He allowed the demon to push through him. Take control of him. Take control of everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“JD…” she whispered to him as he held her, crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” JD’s voice comforted her. Only it wasn’t JD. It was Azazel now. He was speaking through the host, a part of him, in control of him, but with the consent of this Jason Dean. The beautiful angel looked up at him, eyes shining. If she noticed the change she didn’t register it in her tender expression. She looked at him for an answer, for comfort and he complied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled apart from her and gingerly touched her face. The tenderness in his eyes stunned her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon was in love. In absolute love with the pretty thing in his arms capable of such sweetness and such chaos. So was the vessel, but it was the demon that was driving now. He took her hand and they left school together. They went to his motorcycle and she got on, held on to him tight, and drove and drove and drove until they reached the edge of town. They stopped at the 7/11 and got them slushies like she and the vessel liked so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want revenge,” she told him with a darkness that made the body— now almost completely himself— he was inside very hard. He was now burning for her even more than before. With a real human body, he could truly claim her the way he was meant to claim her. “I want to get back at them for what they did. Let’s- I don’t know what. But I just-” He held her tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he told her, Azazel now completely in charge. Azazel scanned JD’s brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Guns. His dad has access to firearms… and explosives, but that can wait. The guns first.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>To his amazement, she had come up with the plan to humiliate them somewhat. It was him who showed her the guns. She looked frightened for a brief moment so he assured his sweet love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to use </span>
  <em>
    <span>ich lüge</span>
  </em>
  <span> bullets,” Azazel explained to his lady love. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s so beautiful. I can not wait to murder those two pieces of human waste in her honor. When we avenge her honor then we can create real chaos. Chaos like none can believe. Like Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker. Leopold and Loeb. Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme. Eternally together, eternally chaotic. \</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ich lüge</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She asked, perplexed. Azazel smiled JD’s smile which softened his sweet chaotic angel’s beautiful confused face. He wanted to tell her the truth but she wasn’t ready. When it was over, when he placed the bodies of the two villains at her feet she’d understand like a loyal dog seeking his mistress’ approval, she’d understand and take his hand. She’ll be so grateful, so devoted. They’ll be together forever and after that she’d help him usher in his grand plan. The two of them, above the rest of them. Even more glorious than God himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he lied. Told her what she needed to hear to push his plan forward. She was just too beautiful, too perfect. And once they planned their plan he took her by the hand and led her to his bed. With a reverence he had not felt in his eons of existence he brought her to him and laid her down on his bed, sliding down her perfect body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I worship you,” he whispered to her as his hands dipped under her skirt and hooked his fingers around her panties, carefully peeling them off. Her body felt like warmth and joy and darkness and greed all at once. She was conflicted and it made her taste even more joyous as he nudged her thighs apart and buried his mouth between them. He worked on her with enthusiasm until she cried out in ecstasy, fingernails scraping his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she lay next to him, drowsy and sated, she whispered the words he had longed to hear said back to him. “Our love is God.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Euphoria flooded him as he heard the words— the first time she spoke them she’d spoken them to the vessel were really to him— escape her lips. She was half asleep and possibly unaware she’d said them, but said them she did. “Hmmm,” she whispered, cuddling into his warm body. “J.D….” Oh how longed for her to call him by his true name. To know that it was completely him she loved, not the remnants of the weak host he had taken control of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it would do for now. He held her soft, warm body close to his and whispered back, “our love is god.” He watched as the smile slid upwards on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the depths of the vessel, JD realized what was happening but it was too late. He had allowed the demon to control him, allowed him to take over his life. He was now a passenger in his own body, he couldn’t take it back now. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning in a sea of anger, violence, misery, and despair. The demon had lied to him, he was not powerful and cared for, he was on the verge of disappearing. And what’s worse is that JD realized he’d left Veronica to his mercy. She had no idea that it was no longer him in control. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica, </span>
  </em>
  <span>JD tried to force his mouth to move, to cry out, to tell her to run… but he couldn’t. He’d surrendered his body in an act of cowardice and fear and now he had to suffer the consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, now Veronica had to suffer the consequences. JD could still feel inside his own skin. He could still feel her softness, her tenderness, smell the light scent of her hairspray and perfume tickle his nose. He wanted to warn her, to kill the demon who had tricked him into forfeiting his body and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azazel pushed this “Jason Dean” down further into the back of his skull— he may enjoy the face and the immediate access to his one true love, but the man himself was inconsequential— but not before scanning it for any more pertinent information to help him on his end goal as he laid there holding the most perfect and exquisite creature he’d ever been near. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Explosives. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He smiled as he realized. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank god this vessel has access to explosives. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He tenderly kissed the top of Veronica’s head and gently toyed with her black hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s perfect. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And together we’ll dance in the ashes of Westerberg and unleash untold hell.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Literally.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>September, 1999<br/>
</b>
  <b>Sherwood, Ohio<br/>
</b>
  <b>Thursday Night — Veronica’s Condo — Dinner Time</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo had been silent since she got home from school the previous day. She went home and did her homework in front of the FoxKids cartoon lineup, but wasn’t sure if she answered any of the word problems on her math sheet correctly and the paragraph she had to write in cursive— she hated writing in cursive </span>
  <em>
    <span>so stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>— was probably a mess but she didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My dad killed himself. My dad chose to leave us. I don’t have a dad because he didn’t want to live anymore. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She kept repeating that in her brain over and over, the pit in her stomach growing. It hurt. It hurt in a way she’d never felt before. She had never met the boy that had been her father, so why did it hurt like this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been one thing when she rather fancifully imagined an accident. Some kind of tragedy that befell him. Theo had thought it all melodrama on the surface, but deep down it was kind of a comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he didn’t leave us on purpose. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But what she really thought was:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he didn’t leave me on purpose. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But now the reality of it all just weighed down on her. The kind of reality that didn’t really sit okay with her. It was adult and real and she kind of knew that she should just confront her mother about this and have her explain it all to her better. She kind of understood that maybe her mom could offer some more insight into the tragedy of her father— </span>
  <em>
    <span>no wonder it really hurt mom to talk about it. He left her, just like he left me— </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she was still trying to understand it herself. But she also had the juvenile fear in her still about “being in trouble” from all the snooping she had done. Like investigating her father behind her mother’s back was somehow naughty behavior and despite her fanciful wishes she didn’t like misbehaving or the disapproval of her mother. She loved her mom. Hadn’t she always been there for her? Always with a hug, a kiss, and comforting reassurance? At no moment in Theo’s life had she ever felt like she was neglected or uncared for so this revelation was really unsettling her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother wasn’t dense though. She noticed her daughter’s odd behavior. She kept looking at Theo concerned, but Veronica was also in some kind of funk too. It had been her and her mom for so long now that her mother didn’t realize Theo could read her just as well as her mom could read her. Granted, after many more years of covering up emotions Veronica was simply better than her child at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I talked to Josie’s mom last night,” Veronica broke the silence to tell her daughter, hoping to use it as her entrance to figuring out what was going on. It wasn’t enough for her own worry and fear, now she had Theo herself to worry and fear over. Theo just pushed the peas around on her plate. Her mom had made chicken strips with bread crumbs and mashed potatoes and peas. It was one of her favorite meals. Normally Theo would gobble it down quickly and ask for more. Instead, she was poking at it and barely listening to her mom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I said I talked to Josie’s mom,” she repeated a bit more loudly. Her mom nudged her foot against her’s in order to get her to look up. She did, and Veronica noticed her daughter's sunken eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’d been crying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica got worried. Really worried. “Are you feeling okay?” Veronica finally asked. Theo just shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she said, but her mom knew better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? You’re barely eating.” Her mom tried to reach over and feel her forehead for a temperature. Theo jerked away, suddenly mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you! I’m fine!” Theo’s voice lashed out, harsh. Her mom blinked, slightly hurt and more than a little worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Sorry. You’re fine.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something’s up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica realized. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But you don’t get information out of Theo by badgering her about it. She closes up instead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica was a lot of things in her twenty-eight years— a lot of which weren’t all that flattering— but “good mom” was actually one of them. She really was a good mom who loved her daughter and knew how best to approach and take care of her as she was getting older. She may have struggled with her identity beyond that, but it was who she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo felt bad. She loved her mom and she didn’t like hurting her. She was the mom that let her sleep with her when she was young and scared of what lurked in the night.. She was the same mom that took care of her if she was sick. The same one that would let her ride on the back of her motorcycle and take her to the movies. They’d laugh and tease each other. When her mom told her, “it’s just you and me, chickie,” that didn’t scare Theo. Her mom was the most solid and permanent fixture in her life and she was grateful for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was her mom. Through and through. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But she could have told me the truth from the beginning about my dad. Not doled the information out like this in tiny pebble form. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Theo took a big bite of the food purposefully to get her mother’s concern off her back. “See? I’m eating,” she said, still edgy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica changed her approach, now more worried. It wasn’t like her to be this surly with her. “Anyway,” her mom continued, not sure what else to say. “I talked to Josie’s mom. She said you girls can do a slumber party at her place tomorrow night like you two wanted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo nodded. Normally a slumber party would be fun and excite her. She and Josie would set up in the basement of her house in sleeping bags. They’d rent </span>
  <em>
    <span>True Lies</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Teen Witch</span>
  </em>
  <span> and watch them while playing her Sweet Valley High and Baby-Sitters Club Mystery board games she inherited from her older sister. There’d be pizza and popcorn. She and Josie would sneak candy. Her mom would tell them to go to bed at ten or so but they never would, instead staying up late with flashlights and giggling and talking about all sorts of stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after yesterday… she wasn’t so sure it would be as fun as all that. Especially with Josie knowing as much as Theo did about who her dad was. But she knew her mom would be on to her for real if she said no to the whole thing. “Cool,” Theo just responded. “Sounds like fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom nodded and chewed her food, desperate to understand what was up with the girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I can return the favor and take you girls to a movie or something Saturday afternoon?” Her mom ate some of her own portion. “Maybe not tell her mom and see something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sixth Sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stir of Echoes</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you both promise not to get too scared and rat me out.” Her mom never did pay much attention to ratings but after letting the two girls watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Romeo + Juliet</span>
  </em>
  <span> at one of the slumber parties at Theo’s place a few months ago. That was when her mom learned this wasn’t true for all parents. There was a phone call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, something like that would be fun but Theo had a hard time putting on a happy face for her mom right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sounds good mom,” She mumbled</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was about the extent of their talking for the night. After dinner, Theo excused herself for bed once Seinfeld came on— Theo never really got the jokes on that but her mom would laugh— and went to her room. Normally, she’d stay up and watch ER with her mom through the crack of her door pretending to be asleep but she didn’t have the strength that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laid in her bed instead and took in the day as a whole. Once she pushed past the hurt, confusion, and anger of finding out how her dad had really died she thought back to the other thing niggling in her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That older girl. Millie. She went to school with Gloria and Janice. She seemed… weird. Not bad weird, but like she knew something weird. The way she had taken the photograph and yearbook from her and stared at the picture of her dad like… like…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like she knew something. Knew his face. It was also the way she had told her not to tell her mom about any of this— not that she ever would— that left a bad feeling in her stomach. One that made her all sorts of scared. Scared, but curious. And right now curiosity was overpowering her scared feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to know. I have to understand more. Dad. My dad. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She couldn’t verbalize it precisely but there was such a powerful feeling inside of her to just understand who he was, and who he was in connection to her. She had lived her whole life without calling anyone dad or daddy and it had never really bothered her. But suddenly and out of nowhere, it was one of the most important things she could think to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took out her flashlight and carefully went through her bag for the pictures she had hidden carefully that her mother wouldn’t realize. She looked at the photo. The one of him and mom. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mom and dad. Our love is god. JD and Veronica. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jason Dean as she now knew him to be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She put the picture underneath her pillow. She had never really done it before— even in a hypothetical sense— but she tried to imagine a world where this guy— this Jason Dean— was alive and he was her dad. What would that be like? From the way he dressed he seemed cool like her mom. She knew compared to the other kids and what they’d tell her she had the “cool mom.” Would he be the “cool dad” as well? Would he watch cartoons on Saturday mornings with her? Or take her to the movies? Would the three of them go to the lake together? As an actual family?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she was younger and started to understand the whole “most other kids have a mom and a dad” thing— even if they didn’t live together— she’d try and pretend that it didn’t matter since her mom was the best. But the truth was? It did kind of matter to Theo. She did kind of want the experience of a “dad.” She kind of remembered her mom’s ex-boyfriend Tim. They’d broken up the summer in between Kindergarten and 1st grade. She remembered he was nice. She remembered them at the park on the swings. He was tall and could pick her up high in the air. She’d laugh. She remembered accidentally calling him dad in front of her mom and her mom getting upset about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snuggled under her blanket and indulged the fantasy of this JD in the picture alive and well and her living breathing father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That girl— Millie— was somehow key to this, she just knew it. Tomorrow at school she’d find Josie, they’d go to Westerberg as soon as possible and get Gloria to find this girl. Find her and find out what she knew that Theo didn’t. Something was definitely up and she was determined to figure out what that “up” was.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Millie’s Aunt’s House<br/>
</b>
  <b>Thursday Night</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie was in the basement of her aunt’s house with the small portable TV on. She was barely paying attention to it and had her notebooks out attempting to get schoolwork done. Not that it was being accomplished. And what was the point really? She wondered if her days at Westerberg were numbered. She wondered if her and her mom would have to move again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The basement of her aunt’s house was where she and her mother had been relegated to as the guest suite since moving in with her aunt and Uncle. It wasn’t as Dickensian as all that though. It had been retrofitted and remodeled with insulation and there was a pull out bed her mother took and a second couch she slept on. They had lived much worse. She remembered some of their darkest days when they couldn’t find anywhere and money was too tight for a motel room and they slept in her mom’s car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom was good at dressing it up though. She’d always pretend it was camping out under the stars and a fun adventure. It wasn’t until recently Millie realized it was really just poverty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited downstairs as she listened to her mother and her aunt fight. Millie tried not to listen to the yelling upstairs. They always fought. She understood a little of their animosity and their anger. Her grandmother had it, her mother had a slight bit… and no one had it as powerful as Millie did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But her Aunt? Not at all. Not even a smidge. Millie didn’t understand whether it was her resentment over not being included or something more that had made her so hostile like that to her and her mother. Why it made her fall so hard into religion like she did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was after her father had left that her mother had properly explained to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Those things you see, honey?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I know, mom,” she had responded, trying to regurgitate back to her what she thought she wanted to hear. “They’re in my head.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, honey. They aren’t. They’re real. I can’t see them, but I can sense them. I had hoped you’d be like your aunt, and have no ability but… I’m so sorry baby, you’re like your grandmother, you see everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom and her seldom ever talked about it, not outright, but Millie understood. This was a curse. She understood it was why her dad had run off. Understood it was why her mom struggled so much. Why they were trapped in this house with her angry and disapproving aunt. Why they were trapped in their poverty. Millie looked at her meager boxes and realized the time to chuck them on top of her mother’s crappy car and figure out where to go next was probably not too far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only… only she had really hoped that wouldn’t be the case this time. Clark was really cool and nice. And those two girls? Gloria and Janice? They seemed all right and like they could be friends. Friends would be nice. And that boy. The one that was nice to her? All right, yeah, he was totally out of her league but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...a date would be nice too. Well, she understood that to be pretty generous. Honestly, even just nursing a crush from afar would be fun for a bit. She’d never been anywhere long enough to even do that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom came downstairs with a sigh of relief. “We’re good. For now,” she explained to her daughter. Her mom looked beat up. It always crushed Millie when she had that look on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Maggie isn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s always pissed, Mill. But she’ll live.” Her mom flopped down on the pull out bed. She wanted a cigarette. Badly. But she knew better than to reopen the screaming match with her sister. She just needed to scrape the money and support together to be able to get her and Mil on their own two feet. She just needed to make sure her daughter- She sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’ll never be “normal.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She loved her daughter, implicitly. It had been just the two of them for so very long. And she loved how empathetic her daughter was, how much she wanted to help, but she needed her to start putting her own life and needs first. And what Millie needed most of all was to stay in this nice school district. That guidance counselor— Ms. Sawyer— that had wanted to help get her a scholarship and aid money to go to school seemed to generally care and want to help her. That was the best step forward. What her daughter needed was to stay in the world of the living. The world of the mundane. She deserved a bright future. One with stability and opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Millie,” her mother said, needing to put her foot down. “Whatever this is about, just ignore it. Ignore him,” she told her quietly. After visiting Ms. Sawyer's office she knew there had to be some… otherworldly event involved. Knew her daughter was a part of it. She’d told the ghost to leave her alone, but ghosts were desperate creatures by their nature. It was Millie that needed to leave things alone. “We- we can’t afford to move right now.” She hesitated but decided to add, “you can’t afford to move again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie closed her eyes and tried very hard not to disappoint her mother. But if she was going to understand, she needed to explain. “Ms. Sawyer’s boyfriend died when he was seventeen. Killed himself. Blew up in the football field of Westerberg High.” Millie’s mother sighed and closed her eyes. “He’s- he’s the one that-” Millie didn’t finish. Her mom understood. That nice woman, the one who was willing to help her daughter. She didn’t deserve to be caught up in this past either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” It wasn’t that she had no empathy for the woman or even the boy, but the trouble it could bring. “Leave it alone,” her mom told her. “Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie persisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Sawyer has a daughter,” She added. “She’s nine. Her name’s Theo. She was the little girl in the car that dropped me off earlier.” Her mom felt the migraine coming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She got up, stuffed a towel under the door and got out her pack of cigarettes. Mrs. Walker shouldn’t have been so surprised. A baby. She didn’t spot a ring on the young woman’s finger. It was probably why she was so willing to help her and Millie, recognizing the hardship of a baby all alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, her boyfriend killed himself on the football field? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She wasn’t without empathy herself, after all. And a kid? Nine years old? She had looked so young. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That means-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unfinished business</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mother lit it up and carefully looked at her daughter. “The daughter is his, isn’t it?” She concluded. Millie nodded and her mother rubbed her head and took a long drag on the cigarette considering the situation. Just the brief description was tragic enough. “Does all he want for you to do is tell her he’s sorry? Tell them he’s sorry? Maybe look at this little girl?” Most ghosts were easy to please. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell my wife I loved her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell my sister where I hid the money box. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell my daughter I didn’t mean to hurt her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The trouble was, there were often other kinds too. The kinds that got more difficult. Not to mention when more demonic forces she only vaguely understood from her own mother. She puffed in and out on the smoke contemplating the risk scale on her needing to leave the community over this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie could see the lines etched in her tired mother’s face. The worry, the dread, the argument with her sister had already taken a lot out of her. She wished she could just say: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leave it Mill, leave this all alone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But she knew her daughter wouldn’t. “I think so,” Millie lied, wishing she could talk to her mother about it fully, but knowing she couldn’t. Whatever she was going to do her mother couldn’t know. Her mother couldn’t know it was going to be so much more than a simple haunting. That the boy in question was not seventeen anymore and the fear, the dread… the added presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave an anonymous note. Forge a letter like he wrote it to her. Mail it and don’t let her know you had anything to do with it, okay?” Mrs. Walker desperately tried to tell her daughter. “This woman— this Ms. Sawyer— she seems nice. Helpful. She already reached out to me worried for you, offering you help. And the thing is? I want her to help you.” Millie nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise I won’t rock the boat this time. I can do what he needs me to do— tell him about the girl, get the message from him and get it in letter form— all like you said. Simple. Cut and dry. Ms. Sawyer and her daughter will have their closure and the ghost can… well, move on? Or whatever it is they do.” Millie didn’t actually know what they did when they “moved on.” She hoped it was moving on to a “better” place but she only had a flashlight to see, not an instruction handbook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really promise, mom. I’ll make sure it’s taken care of quickly and without her knowing it was me.” Her mother nodded and stamped out the cigarette on the bottom of her shoe. She went to the small bathroom in the basement and flushed it. She took the can of air freshener and tried in vain to get the smell out, though it never really did the trick. She looked at her teenage daughter with love, worry, and concern. She hated that the girl had to have this responsibility and weight on her shoulders. She hated that her daughter could see them more clearly than she could. It shouldn’t be her burden to bear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked over and kissed the girl on her forehead. “What do you say we break into those fudgesicles I was saving for us?” It was Millie’s favorite frozen treat. She smiled at her mom and nodded, wanting to make her feel better. They got them out of the small freezer they were using in the basement and ate them all the while Millie tried to figure out what the fuck to do about this ghost-not-ghost situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because she had hardcore lied to her mother: this was not going to be a simple case. And it could result in disaster. But remembering the tears on the face of the little girl as she held the photo of her dead dad, the kind eyes of the guidance counselor who just wanted to help she knew she had no choice, and the scared and confused panic of the soul trapped somewhere in between life and death she understood she had no choice but to figure out what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day her mom dropped her off at school with little fanfare. Beyond her classes she knew what she needed to do. She had to find Gloria and she had to convince her she needed her help. It was risky and it could result in alienating her but she had to try. She had more of the background information and access to Ms. Sawyer’s daughter through her own little sister. If she was going to get to the bottom of this it was the best place to start amongst the living.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that she’d have to confront Jason Dean himself and see what he understood.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Friday Morning<br/>
</b>
  <b>The Day They Resurrected Jason Dean<br/>
</b>
  <b>The Day a Couple of Teens and Pre-Teens Let Hell Loose on Westerberg</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Gloria walked into Westerberg that morning determined to get to the bottom of all of this. She felt the task weigh heavy on her, having entangled herself in another one of these types of things. Before she had a chance to find her she saw Gloria run up the hall to greet her at her locker as she dumped some books inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Hey! Millie! You okay? That lady who came out of the house-” Millie looked trepidatious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Thank you for the lift. I was rattled yesterday. Um, that was my aunt you met. Sorry about that.” Her brain was racing a mile a minute, unsure how to proceed. She had to find this ghost. This JD. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was he still hovering in Ms. Sawyer’s office? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She was tempted to go now, but with all the students around it was hard to figure out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, your aunt. She was super intense.” Millie was uncomfortable. In a perfect world she’d love to try and be friends with this girl. Friends would be nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Yeah. She’s born again. My mom and I aren’t but we don’t have a lot of choices in homes right now so we have to put up with her.” Gloria nodded and adjusted her bookbag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, are you okay? You weren’t doing well yesterday. And you seemed to majorly bug out when you found out about my sister’s friend’s dad sitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie stopped in front of Ms. Sawyer’s office. There he was, Jason Dean, sitting in the visitor’s chair staring at Ms. Sawyer as she organized some files in her cabinet. It was hard to read the expression on his face from here, but from the way his eyes never left where she was Millie could tell he was mooning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump hit her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is real. These are real people. And Ms. Sawyer was nice to you. And that boy was in love with her. That boy was that girl you met yesterday’s dad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gloria snapped her fingers in front of Millie. “Mill? Mill? Earth to Millie?” She said, trying to keep the tone jovial. Millie jumped, blown away from her otherworldly business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Millie told her. “Things are just really… weird right now.” She slumped against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re telling me.” Gloria looked above Millie’s head. Without meaning to, she found herself underneath the small gold plaque. The one that commemorated the so-called “Year of Death” at Westerberg High.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>Heather Chandler</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Kurt Kelly</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ram Sweeney</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Jason Dean</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>All four kids, dead at seventeen. All by their own hand. Gloria sighed and felt her insides rumble. Before yesterday they were distant ghosts, ghoulish tokens of a half generation ago to be talked about in ghost stories over beers. A cautionary tale. They were never real. Now one of them was the ex-boyfriend of the guidance counselor she really liked, the dad of her sister’s best friend. He was a person, a living breathing person with feelings. One that had died. As she pondered, Millie followed her gaze, unrealizing where she had been staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so weird,” Gloria said. “I keep thinking about him. About the four of them really. Ever since seeing their pictures. Since finding out that-” She lowered her voice, suddenly aware the other kids were brushing past her. “Well, that he’s Theo’s… you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie nodded. She turned back to the office of Ms. Sawyer and saw him there. “Yeah, I don’t really know the girl that well. Or Ms. Sawyer but still… that’s really sad.” Gloria nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was super upset after you left. It took us forever to get her calmed down so we could drop her off and not have her mom worry.” Millie nodded, the knot in her own stomach growing. “For real, Millie are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gloria froze. Just at that moment, she heard two boys make loud kissing noises in front of the two girls. “Aw look, how sweet. You two gonna go home tonight and listen to Katie Lang together and make out? Two freaks?” Mike Segal came out of nowhere and thrust himself into their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your problem, Mike?” Gloria said, trying not to look at him in the eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, I acknowledged him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was a dick. A giant one. She had no idea why since transferring to Westerberg he insisted on picking on her. It didn’t make sense. She’d seen the movies, the shows, all of that. Wasn’t it girls that pick on other girls? So far not a single girl at Westerberg had said anything slight against her— at least to her face— but this prick lived for it. He called her stupid if she stumbled in class— they had math together— and called her mean slurs about her sexuality, especially when she was hanging out with Janice or any other girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie tapped her foot, in no mood for this. She had otherworldly things to deal with and taking a few moments out of her life to deal with this dweeb was hardly what she wanted to do at this moment. “Why don’t you go fuck off?” She said, trying to dispose of the jerk. The memory of him picking on her and Clark the other day still fresh in her head, her anger bubbling to the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you just say, trailer trash?” He asked, getting in her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>off!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She said, feeling her anger spur inside of her. With all the fear and drama, the worry over upsetting her mother she had just had it with assholes like him. His expression turned hard and for a moment she actually worried he’d really hit her. She was all of five foot four and one hundred and fifteen pounds. He was six foot and two hundred easy. Suddenly the entire hallway stopped. Mr. Lippencot chose just that moment— of course, god forbid they ever time their exits to see the boy's harassment—  to come out of his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on here?” He asked. “You know what? I don’t care. That kind of language is inexcusable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie sighed. A boy gets in her and her friend’s face, bullies them, but she gets called out for swearing. Typical. “That’ll be detention for you. Today. After school.” Millie seethed. Her mom would be mad. And she had other things she needed to do today. But she took the detention slip without argument. There just wasn’t any point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike continued to laugh. . Millie and Gloria glared at him. It wasn’t fair, but they knew if they complained about being bullied it would only make the bullying worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would also lead to a meeting. And no one believed that boys bullied girls in a way that wasn’t sexual. After all, they’d seen the movies. It was girls who were mean to other girls. Honestly, for the two of them as much as it sucked, It was better to just keep your mouth shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And god forbid you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>say anything about it someone would inevitably coo, “well, it means he </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.” Which in the case of Mike Segal, Gloria and Millie could easily say </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Honestly, he probably bullied them because they were girls, and less likely to have the courage to slam their fists into his face in retaliation. He was big, but not compared to a lot of the other top dogs of Westerberg. Hurting them gave him the power he craved and they were easy targets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuming and clutching the detention slip Millie turned her head back to Ms. Sawyer’s office. Jason Dean was still in there mooning over his ex-girlfriend. She glanced down at her detention slip, the hamster wheel turning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not like he can leave the school, right? Maybe after detention I could talk to him, start figuring this all out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Friday Afternoon<br/>
</b>
  <b>Veronica’s Office</b>
</p><p>
  <span>JD was still in the office dealing with the revelation he’d just overheard. He barely noticed that Veronica, Heather, Heather, and Betty had left the office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the picture of the little girl with dark hair and hazel eyes smiling in the picture on the desk. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Daughter… I have a daughter…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veronica had gone for the day, having left with Heather, Heather, and Betty and now he was alone in the office with only his complicated feelings to keep him company. Having a child was the last thing he had expected to come from his relationship with Veronica. Upon coming back to this plane and wandering into the office of Veronica Sawyer he hadn’t been expecting much, but not that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that the fear and shock turned to wonderstruck curiosity. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was she like? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He found himself wondering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What kind of foods does she eat? Vegetables does she hate? What makes her laugh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something even deeper crept inside of him, realizing he had a daughter out there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I did leave a mark on this world. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not in the bang of an explosion like he had thought when he managed to claw his way back into his body with the time remaining to get the bomb to the football field and away from the school and— most importantly— Veronica. But a real one. And most likely a positive one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing something rattle the door he turned. Momentarily taking his eyes away from the picture of the two prettiest girls in the world he turned even though he knew no one knew he was in there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, except for one person. At the door stood Millie Walker, the one person who knew he was in there and could really communicate with him. Veronica had locked the office door behind her and she waved at him. Without thought he wandered out of the office and right through the door. Millie was startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he told her. “I bet that’s creepy to see.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He was doing his best not to upset the girl. She was the only shot he had of figuring out what was going on, but he remembered what her mother had told him: </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s just a little girl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And she was. She was a teenager and he- he was… An adult. He swallowed. His memory was patchy but he understood himself to be twenty-seven now and not seventeen even if the specifics were a bit hazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, I’m used to it. You’re not the first, um, well- whatever you are. I- It’s just-” Millie was perplexed. “If you’re not corporeal then- well- then why can you stand on the floor? Or the ground? I mean, if you can walk through walls then why can you sit in a chair? It’s just- I’ve just always wondered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you asking me? You think I know the rules?” He snapped, regretting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sorry. This is really new to me. I mean, you’re not dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” he told her, trying to understand too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed. “I’ve heard of you. I mean, I’ve seen a picture of you. Jason Dean, right?” He nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. JD. I went by, um,  JD,” he told her. She smiled and stretched her hand out. He laughed as his own passed through it in an awkward handshake. “You’ve heard…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pointed behind him. He hadn’t noticed it being cooped up in Veronica’s office all day. Now he walked up to the plaque across the hall from him. It wasn’t big— schools don’t typically like to memorialize suicides lest they romanticize it— but it was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>1972 - 1989</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Heather Chandler</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kurt Kelly</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ram Sweeney</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jason Dean</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please seek guidance if you need it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed. A memorial plaque. For the four dead. “For the four suicides of 1989, right?” She asked, tentatively. It’s not often to talk to someone about their death. Or their not death, as it turned out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he mumbled to her. “Sorry,” he explained. “My memory after the explosion is spotty at best. I mean I remember taking the bomb, I remember-” He swallowed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I remember her face. The last thing I saw on this earth was Veronica’s sad face. I caused all that pain. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“That’s all I remember,” he told her, keeping it to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie nodded. “Usually ghosts have unfinished business. ‘Tell my wife about the money in the floorboards.’ That sort of thing.” He nodded. “I, um, I met-” She hesitated. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did he know? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Ms. Sawyer seems nice.” He turned around and stared at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I loved her,” he told the teenager. “I really loved her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “So, um… Do you know about-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My daughter?” He asked. “Yeah, just found out. I’m still…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Millie bounced back and forth from foot to foot, unsure what to say. Congratulations seemed a bit wrong. She changed the subject instead. “So what do you know? If you’re not dead then…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to the teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember the bomb. I remember…” He closed his eyes and recalled the demon sliding inside of him. “His name’s Azazel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Azazel?” She asked, shivering. “I don’t understand.” She remembered the instance at her last school. She gulped. Demon. She didn’t know much but that name was the name of a demon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s darkness,” he warned her. “Evil and darkness and- and you need to forget me,” he warned her, realizing the danger he had put her in by talking to him. “Look, I don’t remember much but the one thing I remember is that this demon? One of the things he wants is-” JD was panicking, putting the dots together. The demon had wanted Veronica. He didn’t know if Azazel knew about</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Millie?” A girl’s voice asked. JD turned at the sound. Tunnel vision slammed into him as the walking and talking version of the girl in the photograph came into view in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo!” Millie said, surprised to see the girl again. She turned back and forth from the girl to the spirit in question. “What, um, what are you doing here?” She asked, surprised to see her in the school this far into the afternoon. “Were you looking for your mom?” She asked, unsure what else to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom went out with her friend Betty tonight. She thinks I’m sleeping over at Josie’s. I came here instead.” Theo stood in front of her in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt featuring Sanrio’s Pochacco character with an open flannel over it and dirty red chucks. “Josie’s covering for me for a bit but she’s gonna have Gloria come get me in a few minutes. I wanted to talk to you first. Is that okay?” Millie blinked back and forth between JD and Theo. “Gloria told me you had a detention. She said you’d be getting out by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>JD could barely move as he stared at the girl in front of him. A picture was one thing but this was so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much different. . Theodora Sawyer: living, breathing, and existing in front of him. She looked far too much like her mother for his sanity. He stood there, gobsmacked, and unable to handle the complex and challenging emotions that flooded him. He held his hand over his mouth, as the girl Millie tried to figure out what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Theo, look, now’s not really the best-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could come over with us? Maybe sit in the basement? We usually order pizza when we have a slumber party. You could hang out with Gloria probably. You probably wouldn’t want to hang out with us kids all night.” Millie would have loved an invitation like this under normal circumstances. A change to hang out with anyone— even if two of them were much younger— was a huge wish for her but she had other things to consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a real sweet offer but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you know?” Theo asked. A low growl emanated from below them. All three of them glanced between each other with growing concern.. JD remembered the resident in the boiler room. He hadn’t heard or seen of the demon since coming upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell her to go,” JD croaked when he found his voice. Something primal was swirling inside of him. A desperate need to make sure this girl was safe. He’d only learned she existed a brief moment before but the pull inside him was strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And from having seen the pictures in Veronica’s office he was well aware of how much she meant to Veronica, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly what the girl meant to him just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been seventeen when he died. The last ten years were scattered memories of a hell beyond anything he could truly comprehend. Millie had to ignore him. “I don’t know how this works, but I’ve been missing from the boiler room for a bit. That’s where he was last time I saw him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He? Azazel?” Millie pressed.  .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to you. I promise but right now I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why wait?” Theo asked, getting annoyed. “Look, I can tell you know something. Like, yesterday in the car you totally knew something and I really need to know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell her to not set foot in Westerberg again for a long time,” JD croaked as she was speaking. “Not until-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Millie cried, startling both Theo and JD.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Theo said,  frightened by the outburst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not you,” Millie added quickly, trying to figure out what to say or do. “It’s just- Look, Theo I swear I will talk to you when I figure this out I just-” A loud crash from beneath them startled all three of them. The ground shook under them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Theo asked, trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in the boiler room. I don’t- Run!” He yelled as the rumbling from the boiler room increased, causing the lockers to bang loudly and the posters on the wall to fall. Above them a banner reading, “Westerberg Homecoming: 1999!” fell loose and collapsed to the ground. Scared, Millie grabbed Theo’s arm and they tore out of the hallway, unaware of exactly the nature of the threat, but aware there was definitely a threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Theo yelled as Millie dragged her out of the school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you leave?!” Millie yelled to JD. “This school? Can you leave the school?!” She called to him, not caring if Theo heard her talking to the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t tried!” He yelled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you talking to?” Theo asked, her own fear growing even more as the rumbling grew. Millie ignored it for the moment. “Millie? I’m really scared!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghosts can’t leave where they haunt, but you’re not a ghost.” She said to JD, ignoring Theo for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghosts?” Theo asked, going white. She suddenly stared at Millie in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo! Keep moving!” Millie pushed her towards the exit. “I have no idea what’s going on, but whatever it is, its more interested in us versus anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “God, I hope I can leave!” JD said to the air as he followed along, desperate to be as far away from whatever was rumbling in the boiler as the teenager and the tween were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them ran hard to get out of the school and to the parking lot. Out of breath, Millie turned and watched in amazement as the apparition of Jason Dean followed behind them into the parking lot, stopping at the doorway. Millie stared at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess not,” he said, worried. “Look, just go, get her out of here, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if he comes for you?” Millie said. Theo stared back and forth, confused and scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on? Millie, tell me who you’re talking to! Please!” Millie ignored her pleas and walked up to the door, unsure exactly what she was doing. Without knowing why or how she reached out and grabbed Jason Dean’s arm. To both their amazement, she was able to touch it, hold him. They locked eyes for the briefest moment, fear and amazement etched into his face as Millie yanked him out of Westerberg High and into the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo yelped as she saw the coat filled arm being pulled out into the corporeal realm. “Millie! What’s-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a hand!” Millie yelled. Theo hesitated. “Now Theo! I promise I can explain the best I can but for now you need to grab a hold of me and help me pull!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t- I don’t-” She started to quiver, every inch the nine year old she was. She may have seen plenty of horror films but this was real life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo!” She yelled at the girl, turning back to stair. “Trust me! I’ll explain it to you when we get out of here but understand this! It’s your dad. It’s Jason Dean. I saw him in the school, in your mom’s office, and now I’ve got my hand on his arm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo blinked. It was not the answer she had expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad’s dead,” she whispered, shaking. “I told you that. He killed himself.” In the spectral world JD screamed, as if his limb was being torn off, he could barely understand what was happening. Millie strained, using all her might to hold on to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Theo, what can I say? He got better!” She snapped as she yanked even harder, the disembodied screaming louder as she pulled some more of his body through to their side. “Grab on to me! Help me pull him out of the school!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo stared, wide eyed, unsure, and scared. “Theo! For fucks sake it’s your dad! Grab a hold of me and help me pull him back into this plane of existence!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She remained there, scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to meet him?” She pleaded, trying to hold on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo blinked. She didn’t know how or why this was happening but on that note, with those words, Theo reached out with all her might and helped Millie pull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One, two, three…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the two girls stumbled backwards the tall man came forward and fell onto the pavement, with Millie and Theo aghast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An old red Mazda pulled up, Gloria and Josie situated in leather seats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck did we miss?” She asked, staring agape.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Westerberg Boiler Room</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Azazel stormed around the boiler room. He had allowed Jason Dean to wander around upstairs and it had been a mistake. A big one. He had no idea there was a power— a real untapped one— roaming the halls upstairs. He had been planning on making Jason Dean corporeal again himself so he could take his body back, take Veronica back and now…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that little shit ruined his plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucy!” He screamed. “Lucy- Ekoc- whatever the fuck you want to call yourself these days you got some ‘splainin’ to do!” He yelled into the nether realm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh relax, Zaz. Really,” his apprentice said, exasperated as she appeared in front of him. He sighed, and watched as she came out of the shadows, picking her nails. “I’ve well and truly have the outside world handled.” She was in a cool red dress and heels. Ekoc had really become obsessed with Heather Chandler’s body and persona. She had others to choose from but still she appeared as her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Handled?” He barked. “There’s some medium or conduit or whatever that just let my vessel escape before we were able to get the ritual together to make the two of us corporeal again.” Ekoc rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax. I’ve already got the chess pieces moving. That sweet little one Veronica is all safe and sound at a bar at the end of town neatly tucked away with Heather Duke and McNamara.” She sighed. “We can send the two emissaries to go meet them and keep them there if you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ekoc was good. Very good. Azazel knew nothing of her own plans. He knew nothing of her power play for Duke, getting her girlfriend to town, or even that she had secured Bud Dean to do her bidding. Ever since he’d fallen for that little brat Veronica Sawyer he’d been nothing but a simp, drooling and fawning over her like some sick dog, desperate for her complete and utter attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was gross. Disgusting. He was one of the most powerful demons to walk the mortal and immortal plane, on the brink of denomination and he was in love like a seventeen year old boy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And she’s not even that hot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her current body was way hotter than Veronica Sawyer any day of the week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was old. He was done. She was like Pepsi. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A drink for the new generation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>First she needed to placate him for a bit. She closed her eyes and opened them conjuring up two helpers in her mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in front of them now were the soulless meat puppets of Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello boys, miss us?” She cooed. They blinked, looking back and forth. She couldn’t tell if the emptiness in their eyes was a result of the reanimation process or just their pre-death state. These were two boys that thought after starting a rumor about having sex with her that Veronica wanted to do it in real life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did we-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re back and under my bidding. Got a problem with that?” She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azazel stared at them, remembering the things they had said about his love, his reason for being.  Now they were his underlings to order around. “Go bring them all back here, now.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A special thanks to Gerard and Solomon for their help in preparing this chapter. Their editing was gladly accepted. Oh, yeah chxrryb0mb (Slater) helped too. Thanx.</p><p>Title is a lyric from "Veteran of the Psychic Wars" by Blue Oyster Cult.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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